we ain't cowards
by MadnessIsTheMurderer
Summary: She was raised a catholic girl in the middle of Texas, in a small catholic town filled to the brim with catholic people. But she murdered a man in cold blood, dead set on murdering another. God would die by her hand.
1. we ain't cowards

_Sometimes, life can be tough._

Bitterly, Ryan remembered the words he father constantly said. He was a happy man, always willing to do what he could to make his children's lives easy. It didn't matter to him how much he had to work, if he didn't sleep for a day or two, if his body was sore all over the next day. As long as his kids were happy and had what they needed to be so, he was alright with whatever came.

She recalls, then, always thinking he was a fool. Was it really worth it, putting your own health in jeopardy because of kids?

It was one of the reason she didn't want to have any, ever; she didn't wanted to know the answer to that selfish question.

_But ya know what ya do, Ryan? Ya just keep on goin'. Ya keep on survivin'. What else can ya do, right? Laying down an' givin' up? That's a coward's way. An' we ain't no cowards, are we, Ryan?_

She remembers holding his hand, looking up to him, smiling that arrogant smile that would follow her all through her life. It would become signature to her, a cocky little grin that she'd use multiple times, over and over, making a name for herself through that distinct piece of character.

She remembers answering in her most confident tone: "No, pa, we ain't."

She was six, yet she knew who she was. She wasn't a coward, she wasn't someone who would give up. When life pushed on her, she'd push back until it broke, because Lord knew she wouldn't be the one who did.

_That's right, darlin'. That's right._

Looking down at the body of the dead man, she piles yet another shovel-full of dirt on top, questioning herself as she did.

If her father saw her now, would he still think it was alright not to lay down and be a coward?

Inwardly, she scoffed.

_Yeah, pa, we ain't cowards. Think I showed him that when I put a bullet through his brain._

…

She was raised a catholic girl in the middle of Texas, in a small catholic town filled to the brim with catholic people. Real God lovers, they were, always willing to please that man in the sky with whatever sources they had. She remembers all the times they said grace around a table set for six, all the times she would halfheartedly pretend to pray to some form of deity she was quickly losing faith in.

You see, when she was seven, she stopped believing. She didn't think there was some man there, ready to save them with some sort of tribulation of sorts. She didn't believe none of the bull the priest would spout during mass, yet she sat through them anyways, if not to just solidify her ideals of rejection. The bible was nothing more than a book of lies to her, pages filled with nothing but false-facts and misplaced idolization. If it weren't for her parents and siblings being ever-faithful servants to the Lord, she would have been out of that little town faster than they could bless her soul.

She stayed because of them, though, because they needed her. Sure, it was a small town, but it wasn't nice. Times were harsh, the people were worse. She grew to adapt, became the strongest in that town if only in the opinions of herself. Yeah, she lost a hold of her Lord and savior, but that didn't mean she couldn't pretend she hadn't. She still participated in whatever shindigs they chose to have in honor of their almighty God and whoever else they chose to praise. To her, it didn't matter who they did their mass to – it could have been the Easter bunny for all she cared – because she would just sit there without a word sinking into her closed-off mind.

It was in mass that she learned to block out others, learned to appear to hear without actually doing so. It was a trait city-folks learned quickly, something the country hicks wouldn't learn until they left the comforts of their tiny towns.

That skill would grow to be her best ally, and her greatest downfall.

…

Ryan had been the eldest of four children born to mister and misses Kyle and Allison Henderson. Their large family caused for an increased need for money, a need that two working parents alone couldn't fulfill.

So when her youngest brother was born a few months after her sixteenth birthday, Ryan quit the public school she went to and got a job. It didn't pay much, working as a construction worker, but it was helpful. Every two weeks she'd bring home a stack of fresh bills totaling well around the $170.00 mark, slipping it into the wallets of her parents without their suspicion. Miniumum wage at that time was $5.15 an hour, so she was sure her ma and pa knew something was up when they suddenly had much more money than they realized. Yet neither brought it up. Maybe they were too catholic to be logical, thinking it was a gift from God and his angels. But Ryan was sure her parents hadn't been that absorbed by some fake story, right?

Now, Ryan was a smart girl, ever since she was young. She could tie her shoes faster than others, knew the multiplication table before she even started learning about addition in school. Her ma taught her well and quick, made sure her daughter was always ahead of the learning curve because she knew that education was important. But as she had more kids and the weight of burden and necessity became too large, she was forced to quit the time she spent with each child, unable to keep teaching them things they wouldn't need to know for a few more years. Instead, she focused on working and bringing in money, while Ryan became engrossed in the technology her father had gotten her for her tenth birthday.

Computers were rare in those times. They were still a developing thing, something she was so unused to seeing. Only a few people in their town had computers, and she was one of them, courtesy of her pa.

It was a big thing, that computer, all square and clunky. Sometimes it would turn itself off for no reason, sometimes it would move as slow as a turtle. It agitated her sometimes, the way it refused to respond, how it would stop everything all together and sort of retreat in fear.

So she fixed it. She fiddled around, went onto things and learned its language. Programming became her life. By the time she was twelve, she had it all figured out. Even the new languages that were made for the newer computers were in her mind, she could manipulate them.

The year she turned thirteen her pa bought her a newer, advanced computer. She hugged and kissed him every day for a year straight because of it; that computer was her baby. It moved quicker than her old one, superior in every form of the word.

Her eldest sibling – Mark, only ten at that time – pestered her. He kept saying he wanted to use it, but never would she let him. No, she was too engrossed in the lines of text she entered on the screen to allow him to ruin it. All those programs she created could never be ruined, but she didn't want to risk the chance.

It was when she turned fourteen that she knew of the world wide web. She went on blogs and sites dedicated to the thing she loved; codes. And then one man changed her life.

He talked to her like they were friends, a bond formed from the hidden lines of the internet. Their trust grew as they conversed about the language of computers, and soon enough he introduced her to the world of hacking. If she could do one task for him, he'd allow her into the cyber club filled with people like themselves, people engrossed with the codes.

So she did it. She hacked a site and sent it to its death, used her commands to ruin it.

She didn't know the consequences of her actions, wouldn't know how many people it affected until it was on the news and she was hiding her IP address.

But what did she care, at that moment? She had been welcomed into that cyber gang with the highest of respect; what she did was talent, it was skills.

It only took her a matter of months to overthrow every huge website built, a few more to become the leader of that cyber crew. She led those masked people on with a head of power, knowing what she could do and glad that she could.

So when she was sixteen and needed to get out of school to help her ma and pa – the two people she loved the most – she hacked the state's school's system. Made it so she was always there, so her parents were never aware. She gave herself great marks in all her classes, made sure no one was the wiser that she wasn't present.

It was a great plan, until they caught on. But it was too late, she was seventeen, on the cusp of her eighteenth birthday. Only a few more months and she'd be out of that catholic town with its catholic people and the God she had never connected with.

When that doorbell rang and her pa answered the door, she was positive it was a representative from her school. She had been found out, she'd have to quit her job.

But the tears in her ma's eyes made her realize otherwise. A visit from the school wouldn't cause her pa to look at her with such sadness, wouldn't cause her ma to be tearing up.

Then in walked a man in uniform, stars on his shoulders from years of service. A military man, she thought at first, with all his medals of achievements hanging on his breast.

"Ryan Henderson," he stated as he approached her.

And she'll never forget what happened next, no matter how many lives she lived.

"By order of the president of the United States, you're under arrest."

Oh, Lord, she had never seen a catholic town pray so hard in her life.

…

In handcuffs she listened as they read her rights and spoke kindly to her, like a sheep being lead to slaughter. She can't recall how long they drove, or how long the plane ride had been. It was a special plane, seating just herself and the two military officers she came to know as Joe and Terrance. Whether those were their real names or not, she didn't care; it was what they were called by her.

Joe had been the one who entered her house, Terrance had been the one who drove the car. They were good people, she figured, men of servitude. Now, they didn't serve a God, she knew. Their deity was real, you could see him – the President of the United was as real as Joe or Terrance or herself.

Even if she only saw him on the TV screen every once in a while, she knew he was someone you could touch with your hands, see with you eyes, hear with your ears.

So when they asked her to be a government hired worker, under the rule of the President, she agreed. The choice wasn't even given, really. Between a job and jail, it was obvious which any normal person would choose.

Joe was the one who told her of what had happened. They saw her hacking, seen how easily she had gotten through everything. He even mentioned her once-upon-a-time attack on the Pentagon's system. She had gotten through, she remembers with that arrogant smile she still uses, but she hadn't touched nothing. Just left a warning and got out with no detection.

She questioned how they knew, asked how they found her out.

"Some detective kid found you out. Said there was a moment where your IP address wasn't changed."

And she knew who she had to blame for her arrest. That silly brother of hers had gone on it, hadn't he? 14 year old Mark had caused the four year servitude of 17-almost-18 year old Ryan.

Not like she minded.

Nah, she enjoyed the challenges they gave her.

"Get into Russia's system, but don't get caught."

"Make sure China isn't planning anything, but don't get caught."

"Canada is doing some sneaky business, check up with them. Don't get caught."

She never got caught.

She was the best at what she did.

Even as the languages advanced, even as she received the newest computers and the hardest tasks, she finished them with ease.

And her ma and pa forgave her, said the Lord did, too. But she didn't need the forgiveness of no imaginary man, yet she pretended she did. She faked tears on the phone, said she was so happy she found the wrong in her ways and repented.

She lied so they would accept the money she wired to their accounts.

…

When she was 22 they released her from her contract, considered her a free woman after finishing her sentence of servitude. She up and left that country the instant she was free. Like hell she was returning to that life, no matter how much she enjoyed the challenge. She wasn't going back to no catholic town with their catholic people and the God she long ago forgot about. She wasn't going to stay in that country, just waiting for some big thing to hit and call her back to help. She wasn't going to help none of those people again, not as long as she could help it.

So she left for a while, first to England, then to Africa. For a while she spent her time exploring India, then finally settled in Japan.

She wired money to her parents to keep her siblings in good hands. Little Mark was not so little anymore, becoming a man at 19 years of age. He worked their fields and stayed a servant of God, forcing their sister, little lady Mary, to keep to the ways of the Lord, even after her sixteenth birthday. Mary still went to school, she was a good girl, real smart and everything. Did all she could so her ma and pa wouldn't need another trip to the hospital like her ma did years ago. She was the one in charge of keeping the youngest child, sweet boy Anthony, eight at the time, in line and well.

They were still a catholic little family in a catholic little town.

But Ryan wasn't. Ryan knew she wouldn't be welcomed back in that family if she went back. She cussed, she liked to smoke and drink. She had engaged in physical intercourse before marriage with Terrance one year on a drunken dare, and now she was not worthy under the eye of God, was she?

Nah, she wasn't, but the President? She was worthy to the President.

She'd some day be worthy to someone else, too.

She had no use of a catholic little town.


	2. shut your mouth

When the Kira crisis broke out, she had been in Japan for only a few months. Everyone knew she was a foreigner, from her strawberry blond hair to the amber of her eyes, to the even tone of her skin, no longer easily burnt after hardening it against the sun in Texas, good ol' Texas.

Maybe the Japanese folks thought she was Kira – the name _had _originated from the English language, hadn't it? – and from the looks she received from passing citizens on the street, she assumed that was the case.

She can still recall the day she became interested in the whole crisis, the day she began making her presence noticed instead of hiding in the shadows like she had done since her arrival.

If the condescending assumptions of the citizens didn't give her enough reason to prove she wasn't the infamous killer, then it was certainly because she saw that broadcast.

From that man.

L.

He interested her. She never seen a man that clever, so ruthless. He had a man murdered on live television just to taunt Kira to come out to play. He revealed his plan to those who were watching to make his prey feel small and ashamed after he fell into it. That man was cruel.

He was Godless.

So she became an identity of her own. The skills she learned working as a government official, the things she had learned from doing the occasional small hacking-job on the side while in Japan, the information she had gathered from breaking into the files of the divisional police team set on the case... Everything she had done played a part, created her solid background in the fight against Kira.

But then someone grew anxious. It was a man who had been watching her for weeks and weeks, someone she knew the presence of but ignored because she thought he was no man of action. She knew he was hostile, knew that man watched her with angry, accusing eyes.

He approached her on her walk home, in the middle of an abandoned parking lot where her truck was parked. Held a knife in his hand, stared at her with nothing but disgust.

"You're Kira," he stated without remorse. It was something she respected, that tone he used. He wasn't weak, but his stupid assumption discredited any respect he had gained from her with that discovery. "You killed my wife!"

"Funny, Kira only kills criminals. Your wife must have been a bad, bad woman, hm?" she responded.

Ryan didn't care who she hurt with her words. She had no God to please, she had no rules to follow, no limitations on what she could and could not do. She didn't care for petty things like denying or acknowledging when people accused her of things. There was no need for a "yes" or "no", or even a futile refusal of being the killer he claimed she was. She knew there was no changing an opinion, no creating a false set of truth to bring denial to something you thought to be reality. He believed she was Kira, and that was it.

So when he rushed her with tears in his eyes, she did not hesitate for a moment.

She raised that gun from her side, shot him – once, twice – watched mercilessly as he fell to the ground, a bullet in his brain, another to his heart.

Years and years of seeing reports of dead men, of hacking in and discovering plans of mass genocide, of being secluded and alone, had made her hardened. She was a government employee, at one point. She was not a child of God.

Ryan didn't let the nameless man bleed out, she did not leave him there. No, she piled his dead body into the back of her truck bed, covered it with a tarp, drove to her cabin a little ways out of the city.

And she dug a hole, put the man in it after catching his name – Hashiro Ryuu – and burying him.

_No, pa, we ain't._

She wasn't a coward.

She would kill if she needed to, if that's what it took to stay alive. No man threatened her, even Kira didn't scare her, though he should have.

Though he eventually would have.

…

It's a day like no other, and her hands are quick against the keyboard of her laptop. Looking down at the sleek design of the Apple computer before her, she sighs. Damn, times have changed. Her first time, they had been large, booming keys on a computer barely able to keep up with her nimble digits. But now that computer was able to obey and fulfill in the matter of seconds.

She was not afraid of being found out for murder, never. She walked around with her held high like usual, still visited her cafe she frequented daily, still ordered her medium caramel latte with a shot of espresso. The only thing different in her life was the empty space where a man had once followed.

You see, she made him disappear. She hacked the government files like she always used to, deleted every record of a Hashiro Ryuu. He was an unremarkable man with nothing special to make him noticed – the job had been done in the matter of hours. She wasn't worried, despite knowing the cold truth of it all. Even if she deleted a man from existence within a computer, within the most well-kept files, she could not erase the memories – the files – inside people. Ryuu would be remembered by those who knew him, they would wonder where he was, and one day he may be discovered.

So she destroyed her truck, burnt it to bits in the middle of nowhere, walked hours to get back home. She sold her cabin to the government for a future building site. It didn't bother her if they dug it up, found the body; the name it was under had been fake, someone she created out of her head and forced into the government files. Everything about her existence was a scam. Working with the government for so long, she learned it was safer to be a lie then a truth.

In her mind, she remembers what she had once told her pa over the phone as he questioned her on things she was unable to answer, working for the President.

_You know, pa, a man with no secrets is no man to be trusted._

…

Since the day she seen that broadcast, seen the relentlessness of the one everyone called L, she had spent her days attempting to find his source. She wanted to hack in, get his attention, attain everything he knew. She found out small bits of useful information from the Japanese task force she had hacked, but it wasn't enough. It was just an inkling that narrowed her search down to a few million sources.

Sometimes, she missed the days where computers weren't widely used, where she could be in and out of a computer with the easiest form of simplicity.

In the middle of writing a code to narrow down the search, a joyous tone rang through her speakers. Exiting her program, she stared at the screen, at the usual pop-up that became her only form of distraction, nowadays.

Moving her laptop's cursor over the accept button, she saw the picture of her family pop to her screen, a moving image as their webcam activated. Hers quickly followed after, showing them her appearance.

"Ah, Ryan!" her ma said in a joyous tone, speaking her English with the southern drawl Ryan still possessed, even being in Japan. "You look gorgeous, my girl. You curled your hair today?"

Unconsciously, Ryan reached to her blond locks, all well-done in loose romantic curls. Shit, she forgot she had done that when she went to the club last night...

"Yeah, decided to try something different, ma," she lied with that arrogant little smile, speaking the Texas-touched English instead of the Japanese she was becoming accustomed to.

"It looks good, Ryan. You look real good! Caught yourself a man yet? Ya gonna bring him back to us?"

Ryan laughed, shook her head, but it was forced. Her ma always asked that question whenever they Skyped, always feeling the need to get into her love life. She could almost hear it coming, her ma sighing like she always did before saying, _I want some grandkids, y'hear?_

"Naw, ma. Not yet."

And then there it was, her ma's sigh, shortly followed by the signature, "I want some grandkids, y'hear?"

"I know, ma. I just haven't found no boy I wanna marry yet."

"Oh, I know, love. You know the Lord has someone for you out there, right? The Lord knows you."

Inwardly, Ryan cringed. Lord this, Lord that, it was all her ma seemed to mention. But to them, Ryan was still a catholic girl; she doesn't cuss, she doesn't smoke or drink alcohol. She hasn't had sex with a man, not until marriage like the bible says.

"Yeah, ma, I know. I'm waiting for that one to find me, I don't wanna go against the Lord's plan."

She could hear the excitement on the other side of the world, her laptop emitting the happy voices of siblings eager to speak to their elder sister.

"Ma, is that Ryan? I wanna talk to her!" little Mary cried, rushing to the screen and standing behind her ma. God, Ryan thought, her sister was every bit as beautiful as she remembered her being when she grew up, only being able to see that little girl grow to be eleven before the rest of her was seen only through computer screens and pixels. Her hair was short and sun-bleached a striking blond, skin tanned with freckles on her face like a normal country girl, yet she possessed a beauty that captivated and charmed. Her sister was beautiful, she'd have no problem finding a man when she grew up. And one day she'd marry that man, and have that physical intercourse... "Hey, sis! How's life there?"

Ryan gave her cocky grin once more, shrugging, moving herself out of the frame to show the spectacular sight of Japan's center area. "Ah, you know, it ain't really too glamorous or nothin'. Just some lights and some stuff. No different from home."

"Ah, don't lie, sis!" Even Mary's laugh was cute and attractive. It made Ryan smile with fondness. Yeah, she loved her siblings despite not being there as much as she should have been. Ryan watched as her ma waved her goodbye and allowed Mary to sit in the chair before the computer, becoming the center of her laptop screen. "So how's work going, huh?"

"It's..." She paused, thinking on how to answer. She _had _become closer to figuring out what address belonged to L, but she was still so far away... "Goin' places. Still got a bit of work to do, but it'll get there." She sighs then, shakes her head. "How's school goin', kid?"

At that her sister's face lights up brighter than it already was, and she rambles on and on about things only they two speak about, such as the town boy Mary has been in love with since her fourteenth year, the boy who – apparently – she is going to go out with a week from then.

"And I think, sis, that I'm gonna kis-" Mary began to say, only to be cut off by the rough and tough voice of the eldest of the three still at home.

"Let me talk to Ryan, kid," it says as a toned body stands in front of the webcam, nothing but a tanktop covering up the man's torso. Despite being his sister, she knew he was gorgeous. They talk often, more than anyone else in their family, she and Mark. He told her everything, like how all them catholic girls in town wanted to marry him, how they all hoped he'd put a ring on their finger and let them have his children.

In the privacy of his truck – which, as she could see by the blurring scenario from the webcam on their end, he was going to – they spoke of darker things, like how he was losing faith in their god, how he didn't want no marriage.

"Hey," he says after propping the laptop up on the dashboard on his car, reclining the passenger seat so his face was in the frame. He was a gorgeous boy, with a strong jaw, kind, stern eyes like she remembers Joe had, the scruff of a beard poking its way out around his lips, giving him this manly look to him.

"Hey," she responds, nodding slightly in acknowledgment.

"Uh, how are ya, sis?"

"You know." She shrugs, closes her eyes as she does. "Survivin'. How're you holdin' up there?"

"Survivin'." For a brief second there's a laugh, a pathetic little attempt at happiness, though all Ryan can hear is the sadness kept within it. It's deprived of anything joyful. She doesn't question him about it, instead just waiting patiently until he thinks it's alright to talk. "So, I've been really thinkin' 'bout things, sis. I think... I think I wanna join the army."

"Naw," comes her swift response. "You ain't gonna do nothin' like that, kid. You're gonna stay in that town and take care of ma and pa, y'hear?"

"But...! Ryan, you can't think to keep me hear! I'm like you, I ain't got a God no more!"

"You ain't nothin' like me, Mark. Don't you ever say such things like that." And she realizes she's more mad than she should be by the tone of her voice as it leaves her lips. With a shake of her head, she silences any words bound to exit her mouth, and she continues. "You gotta do what I can't, a'ight? Ma and pa rely on you to help 'em."

"But they have _your _money, you and them don't need another expense!"

"You shut your mouth," she exclaims, just a little too loud, turning heads of those already curious as she speaks English. "I got more money then I know what to do with, so ya'll just shut up and live well, a'ight? I ain't wanna hear any of this talk again, understood?"

There's a moment of silence between them, and she sees his eyes fill and empty of anger in seconds, avoiding them from hers on the screen.

"Yes, ma'am."

Then the connection ends.

With a sigh, she collapses back into the chair, unaware that she had ever been sitting up straight in the first place.

Damn that brother of hers, making her worry like that. Over the years they had kept in contact through video chats, once or twice a week, always checking in to make sure her latest amount of money made it to them, that they were doing alright without her there. She and Mark were close, he was the only one in her family who knew she feared no God, who knew she smoke and drank and occasionally he heard her cuss, though she tried to avoid it in front of him, knowing the words were still too harsh for his catholic-raised ears.

For him to proclaim he wanted to join the army was absurd. That meant fighting, that meant the potential of death.

Like hell she was letting him do that to himself.

Though, looking at the progression of things on her laptop, searching for L, she realized that what she was doing was no less dangerous as what he wished to.

Both could lead to death.

Both were reckless and frightening, leading to so many unknown situations and variables.

But as her computer screen flashed up a list of three or four things to try, she realized they were different in only one way.

Her danger would happen; his would not.


	3. good or bad

When Ryan was fifteen, she started trying things to see their outcomes. She considered them 'experiments'. Other people called them 'crimes'.

Said experiments never had any face value if looked at from a bystanders point of view, but to her, they were invaluable. She honed her skills with those occasional scientific side tasks, learned that you could wire money from one account to another without setting off any alarms if you included a segment of a certain code that was previously unheard of before. And – while taking down a popular auction site – she learned you could convince people of lies with the right words, the right false-facts, the perfect alibis.

Maybe it was in those days of curiosity-driven ideas that she learned of humanities cruelty. Maybe it was when she was fourteen, knocking out that boy who would bully Mark, receiving that scolding though she had done the right thing; that bully had been a menace to the entire town and he got what he deserved from a young girl.

Either way, she grew to know of the reality of the world, that there were no 'good people', just bad people with different levels of self-righteous ideals. People would do what they did because they thought it correct, because they believed it to be humane. But sometimes it was not, sometimes it was what others considered evil.

This reasoning in her mind was only further solidified when she went to the government.

On those days where she would be kept in a little room, forced to do the codes she had previously done thousands of times before to check their Pentagon security, she would converse with her guard. Sometimes it would be Joe – whose name was not even Joe, she found out, but rather Nicholas – and other times it would be a nameless person with little to say.

One time, she recalls, there had been a man she won't ever be able to forget.

He said his name was Kevin, and he was part of the Secret Service. He was at least forty, well-versed in the ways of war and the bible, though he never seemed to preach and hardly showed his holy side, despite having a few holes put in him by the guns of enemies.

_You're raised never to harm a person. The Lord tells you murder is a sin, and so does the government. But when you join the army, they tell you the opposite. You're trained to kill, and it's all alright with in the eyes of the Lord if you do._

She remembers him saying that, and it was what finalized her idea of human morality. She had pretended not to care when he spoke of that, but she loved the topic; people were so twisted, so Godless, and she loved learning just how much they were. So she lit a cigarette, allowed the gray haze she exhaled to fill the room.

_Soon as you join the army, you're taught that people aren't equal, that our enemies are worth less than normal people so it's not considered a sin if you end their life. There's different cases, you know, on when to kill. _

A few more puffs, she remembered, then she put it out and lit another. Smoking was always something she did to think, and he was causing her to do that a lot with his steady stream of words, what they spoke of being far more addicting then the nicotine.

_But you do it anyways, shoot them. It's no longer a matter of morality, because you're doing what is considered good. On the battlefield, who cares who's right or wrong, right? It's kill or be killed, there isn't time to think about them or the family you're tearing them away from. It's... sadistic. Everything the Lord preached is invalid in war._

She put out her second cigarette then, looked over her computer at him, no one and nothing else in that empty room but they and the mechanical machine she called her best friend. She remembers that look in his eyes, that lost sort of loneliness and shame as she recalls saying: "There ain't no thing as good or bad, just what ya think falls into that category."

He gave a sort of defeated smile then, like he hadn't wanted to have her confirm a similar thought in his head.

_You've grown up too fast._

…

It took her exactly 17 hours and 34 minutes to break into his system. It was a grueling task, and she had no sleep throughout it. The firewalls, encryption, and general protection proved difficult. If she were a normal hacker or a normal person with little form of determination and self-decision, she would have given up well into the seventh hour; it had seemed the strongest at that point, when all the cards had been played and the money off the table in L's victory. If it wasn't for the constant need to prove herself, to just _get in, _she would have given up, too.

But she knew how the game went, she'd played it too well. You'd reach a point where you thought you were losing, but you'd type a different code, and suddenly the battle was evened. Then another code, and another, and instantly you were skyrocketing to victory. Sometimes, the duration of each stage was elongated, but it was always how it went. Or, at least it was for her.

When she was in, though, it was as if she were at a loss.

See, Ryan never had the need to think beyond, "get in". That had always been her goal when she was younger, never thinking of what else she needed or should do once said goal was met.

It was always a single-minded task, never extending to what she would do upon its completion. Only when she was ordered to do a set of things did she work after getting in.

In a sense, she was exactly like the computers she coded for. She was able to read commands, able to execute them, too. But she could only do as much as was coded for, only able to do this or that action until another was inputted.

So for a while she just stared at her computer screen with full access to the detective's deepest files. She saw as they were labeled: Closed cases, Previous cases, Potential cases, Kira case.

Kira case, yeah. That's what had started everything, that one case with that flamboyant show of aggression from L. L, that man she was interested in, the one she wanted to meet if only just to confirm her beliefs that he was a Godless being, a man without a hope of heaven.

And in order to meet him, she left a well-meaning note upon his screen before she, herself, closed and logged off her computer.

She had much to get ready for the next day.

…

Matsuda didn't know much about the situation they were walking into. All he knew was that he and Aizawa had orders from L to go to a cafe and meet someone who they knew nothing about. Hell, they didn't even know who to _look _for, just knew that there was someone there waiting for them.

L didn't give much details onto the subject, and Soichiro seemed especially interested as to what was in store. He kept questioning the reason behind it all, to which L simply ignored and deflected with some request of sugar or the sort.

They were strict orders set in place for the exact time they were to be there: 2:30 that afternoon, at a little cafe in a bad end of the city. Recalling his work at the police office, he relates the end of town they're in with many murders and narcotic raids. Unconsciously and with a bit of shame because of the bravery his occupation was supposed to give him, a shiver runs down his spine.

But the task came from L, the most highly respected detective in the world, and they were forced to fulfill it despite the location or the vagueness about it.

So at exactly 2:30 – not a minute before nor after – they walked through the cafe door.

…

Ryan knew all the danger that came with her proposal to the detective only hours previous. There were so many possibilities that ran through her mind it almost made her dizzy. If it weren't for the vanilla latte she sipped delicately and the cigarette in her hand, she was sure she would have had to close her eyes and steady herself for a moment.

To any normal person, she was in a scary situation. She had very well near offered herself entirely up to L, allowing him the utmost control. He could choose to accept her offer and meet her, or he could simply play her on and murder her for knowing too much. He could arrest her and have her sent to jail for interfering in government business. He could choose to do any of those things, yet she wasn't afraid. If she was killed because of her actions, then she had no one to blame but herself and it was welcomed. She didn't mind death – perhaps having to deal with it for four years had hardened her against the reality of the act.

Or maybe she knew full well of the suddenness of death, the irreversibility of it, and just didn't care.

But when those two men walked in, so out of place in their suits and well-kept demeanor, her heart did a little jump.

Perhaps not in fear, perhaps not in sadness for all she would be unable to do depending on how the meeting played out.

No, it jumped for excitement; she was so close to meeting him.

L.

So she chugged down her latte, threw it into the garbage and butted out her cigarette. Standing up, she didn't bother to straighten her attire, simply approached the two men who were looking nervously around the cafe.

"Hey," she stated to them, standing before the two police officers without a care in the world. Her body was slouched and relaxed, like she wasn't speaking to those who would deem her fate but, instead, conversing easily with old friends or family. "I'm guessing you're here for me, huh?"

With a quick look between them, one grabbed her arms while the other snapped on the handcuffs.

"You're under arrest."

With a laugh of blank entertainment, she gave that cocky grin of hers, following them willingly to their car.

Yeah, she was used to being arrested.

…

Matsuda hadn't thought that they were to be arresting a woman, and a _pretty _one at that. Damn, he knew he should have tried more with his hair that morning...

With all the selfish pity aside, though, he was still confused as to what had happened. L had deemed they would be approached someone when they entered at 2:30, and they were to take said person into custody. They would drive around and ask her the questions that they would hear through the ear pieces each had on. Depending on what happened after, they would follow L's instructions.

The girl in the back of their cruiser seemed disinterested in everything that was happening. She had a lazy easiness to her, a relaxed feel with her body. She slouched as she sat in the seat, looking out the window like they were a feuding family on a long drive to a vacation. He remembers occasionally having those long, awkward drives, and being that kid looking out the window...

"So you're his grunts, huh?" the girl's voice finally started up, and he accidentally caught sight of her eyes through the rear view mirror.

"What?" Aizawa asked, turning around in his seat to look at the girl. For a moment, Matsuda was extremely glad his companion had forced him to drive; he wasn't sure he could talk to such a confident woman without stuttering and making a fool of himself. He much preferred being mildly distracted by the effort of driving in no set pattern.

"You're L's grunts. He sent you here in his place."

"You're right, yeah." Aizawa paused for a moment, and Matsuda heard as the question rang in through his ear piece.

_Ask why she did what she did._

"Why did you do what you did?" came the echo of Aizawa.

She paused for a moment, hands cuffed together on her lap. Curiously, Matsuda looked upon the mirror and once again caught her eyes, regretting his actions instantly. They were such sharp eyes, lazy and bored, the colour of new polished wood. Something in them chilled him to the bones – whether it was in pleasure or fear, he did not know.

"The fact that you won't say what I did is interesting. Has he even told you? Or is he too prideful to admit that I beat him?"

_Ask again._

"It doesn't matter. Why did you do what you did?"

"You pause before you ask questions. He has you on a wire, doesn't he? He won't tell you what I've done because he's childish." She scoffs, looks out the window. "Less interesting than I thought. No matter, I did it because I wanted his attention. I want to meet L. That whole stunt with Kira? That was good. You're a smart guy, L, if predictable."

Now, Matsuda had certainly heard L be called a lot of things within his few short months of hearing of the detective and the shorter days of working with him. A prick, yes. An arrogant man, yes. But predictable? L was always regarded as far from that title.

"Let me ask you a question, L," she continued on, voice taking up a cocky edge. "Are you going to allow me to help you catch Kira, or do I have to go through everything I have by myself?"

_You assume you'll be leaving the car._

"You assume you'll be leaving the car."

"Murder doesn't seem like your thing. Going through the cases you've done, you seem to be a pacifist or a bystander. You'd rather other people do the killing, you don't want to be the judge of life or death." She gives that signature grin, followed by a small laugh of what seems like victory. "I did my homework, you know. Killing me isn't much of an option, either, since I have everything set to go viral in exactly ten hours unless I set it off. Good luck getting access to it without my help." Then she sighed, muttered under her breath, "Fuck, I need a cigarette," before continuing her seemingly one-sided conversation with the man on the other end of the wire. "Your options are allowing me to live and leave the car, or bringing me in to whatever headquarters you have and receiving all your files back personally. The latter will ensure you have everything; the former will give me room to blindside you."

_Give her the headset._

And when Aizawa leaned over the middle of the seat and put the headset on her ear, Matsuda released a breath he was unconsciously holding. Thank god, he was still allowed to listen in the conversation.

_Hello, intruder._

Ryan had to admit, that voice was nothing what she thought she'd hear. It was deep – yet not the baritone voice her brother had – and masculine. If she had to relate it to anything, it would have been wood and the soft roughness of it.

"Hey," she casually responded, grinning at this opportunity. Talking to a man she had first taken notice of a few weeks previous was exciting. It just showed her how effective she could be at capturing someone's attention, his actions and words feeding onto her growing ego.

_It seems I am forced into allowing you to assist._

"Seems so, huh?"

_If you are smart enough to gain access to my files, you may be worth having on the team._

"Win-win situation then, huh? You should be thanking me."

_Indeed. _

"Anytime, kid." Though she was sure he was far from a kid, guessing at around early thirties or so by the sound of his voice. "Anytime."

_What is your name?_

For a second she stopped to think. What was her alias in Japan again? Sylvia Chapmen? Couldn't be, that was China's. How about Amy Swine? No, she decided, that was the name her cabin was under. It would be terrible if she was working with a government detective under that name when or if they found the body buried there and sent out a search for anyone with the extremely rare English name in Japan.

Rare English name...

Oh, right. That was the name.

"Katrina Antoinette."

_You hesitated before you answered._

"I was deciding if I should tell you the truth or not."

_And what did you decide?_

"Not to."

She gave that smirk of hers, though she knew he couldn't see it.

…_Very well. I am L. I look forward to meeting you in person, Antoinette-san. Please return the headset now._

Leaning forward in her seat, she turned her ear towards Aizawa as for him to remove the headset from her.

Matsuda could feel her hot breath seep slowly through his suit as she was forced to hold in that position while it was taken off. Unconsciously, he swerved the car in her nervousness as he turned the car to head to headquarters.

God, he hadn't been around a girl for a while...

And now she was going to be a part of the task force.

Matsuda sighed as he realized the torture he'd be going through until he felt comfortable with her.

Dammit.


	4. you are ryan

Matsuda remembers the fearlessness of that girl better than anyone. At first glance, he had mistaken that bravery for cockiness, a form of extreme arrogance he had thought unseen of in women. But that thought of it being arrogance was pushed aside the moment she was kind to him, giving him a smile – that cocky smile, though he hadn't known the feelings behind it at the time– while she complimented his grip on her arm. In her mind, it was just an insult hidden behind sweet words. In all reality, his grip was too loose. Should she feel the need, she could break through it and beat him with her still-cuffed hands; Ryan just wanted the nervous man to feel secure in his pressure so that option would stay open for as long as she needed it to be.

It was later in that January 5th evening that she had been brought into the flat they called headquarters, introduced to the man behind the letter.

Matsuda watched her face as Aizawa opened the door, as he walked in and she followed behind with her hands cuffed and feet dragging against the floor like a prisoner. Standing before them was L himself, one leg scratching the back of the other, hands in the pockets of his pants. It was almost like seeing the past again, Matsuda thought, L had looked the exact same when _they_ met him... For a moment she seemed shocked, perhaps even surprised. But in a moment it passed and the dull, dead look came back to her eyes, and she sighed.

"You're L," she stated in a form of hopeful disbelief. Perhaps she was hoping he would deny it, hoping that someone would burst through a door and tell her differently, that L was not L but an imposter sent as a test to see what her intentions were.

"I am L. You are Antoinette-san." He repeated her actions as if it were the right thing to do.

"Sure." She held out her arms, the metal jingling in the distance between her left and right. "Now, you mind? I have to stop the program before we're compromised."

…

Ryan watched through hazed eyes as she saw a man with a mustache nod sternly, followed by one of her captors – the stronger-looking one, the one who she had talked to earlier with the puffy afro and the dark eyes – undoing the handcuffs from around her wrists. Rubbing the place where they had once been, she shook her head lightly. Damn, she was disappointed. She didn't expect L, the _famous detective L, _to be a kid. How old was he? Twenty, maybe? Perhaps younger? Was he even old enough to _drink? _

It was so depressing. She thought with the entirety of her mind that the man she thought of L would be older, forty perhaps, with a twisted and cynical view on society due to some unsaid horrors in his life. She pictured him wearing clothes of an aristocratic attire, having little patience and a short temper with her because of the stunt she pulled to get herself in that situation, in the task force to hunt down and destroy Kira.

And yet she was greeted by what seemed like a college slacker, wearing jeans and a white shirt, looking so malnourished and overspent. He even had the dark rings around his eyes, similar to a college student. Did he come straight from To-Oh university or something...?

"So you were not kidding," came that kid's sudden words, forcing her to look up from caring to her wounds.

"'Course not," she spat, insulted at his assumption of an empty threat. "Faking an attack on you would have done nothing but hinder us both." As she spoke, that smug smile crept upon her face as she thought of what he said, her feet bringing her across the floor and right past him. For half a second she looked to take a closer look upon his face – still so young yet so damaged by what she thought was stress but what very well could have only been a bad night of sleep – then looked away and continued her walk towards the grand computer he had set up. Whistling at it, she stood before the unoccupied chair in front of the desk with the keyboard, hands on her hips as if she were examining an exciting and unfathomable scene.

"Nice setup you have here," she complimented, looking over her shoulder at the curious detective and his fellow task members. There were seven of them in the room not including herself, though she payed no mind to any of the six that were not L; what use did she have of lackeys? She hadn't done all that work to meet them, no. It was to meet L, that young kid who hardly met any of her expectations. "No wonder it took seventeen and a half hours."

Quickly she sat down, nimble fingers pressing a few buttons to bring up the command prompt, letters forming across the screen as she entered in an essay of text designed to stop the time bomb she had elegantly hidden amongst his files.

"Clever," came the praise of the detective, realizing what had been done. To put the very thing he wished to deactivate inside his own computer was near ingenious. He would have searched everywhere but there, assuming first that her main source of power would be her own laptop computer. Occam's razor, he found himself thinking of: the simplest answer was usually the correct one.

She turned in the seat then, faced L head on with a blank face and emptier eyes.

"So," she said, standing up from the seat and dusting off her black skinny jeans. "What do we know about Kira?"

…

_...An' a man's worst enemy is in himself. Fo' there is a devil inside each o' us, an' we must fight him in order to make our way to our Lord and savior, almighty Je-eeeee-sus Christ. _

Looking at that detective, Ryan was almost forced to remember the words of the one priest she had listened to. He was a black man, with a deep, rich voice that sounded superb when he began to sing in mass. Though they lived in a small town in the southern half of Texas, where some of the white supremacy still rang strong, that priest had been fully welcomed in that god-loving little place of hers, if only because he connected so well with the people. Maybe those in her town were testing themselves, too, seeing just how much they could tolerate in name of the Lord, for didn't it state that all men were equal under the eyes of the Lord?

_Now, ya'll look to ya left, an' to ya right. These people be fightin' e'ryday to keep the strength of the Lord alive in 'emselves. Each day they face a challenge from the devil, an' they must fight agains' him. It takes a lot of strength, and sometimes we falter in our battle. _

There was something about L that brought the words strong and true into her mind. She couldn't pinpoint it then, that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach, nearly screaming that the detective was... Fighting. Humorlessly, she wondered if there was a devil inside him.

Oh, that was what brought her to that man. The hope that he was Godless, that she could feel some form of connection with him to know she wasn't so alone in the world. In America, it was if she were the only one without a soul to be taken by the Lord, the only one who didn't believe in a heaven or hell, in an afterlife or second worlds, the goodness of life ruined by her over-thinking mind.

She wanted to reach out to the working man and ask him what he thought of God, if he believed in it, what his opinion was, but she couldn't do it. It wasn't that she was afraid or intimidated by him. In fact, it was quite the opposite; he was a young man who seemed very well near harmless, someone who spoke politely and addressed her with an honorific she very well didn't deserve. She didn't fear him, she felt _superior _to him.

It was the fear of his answer that stopped her from asking. If she were to get a response that she didn't wish for, would her plan have been for nothing? Would she want to leave the investigation, stop assisting the raven haired man because of the amount of disappointment she had to endure all in one day? Already her expectations of a brilliant man with a critical outlook on life had been dashed...

With a sigh, she continued on with her work assigned to her by L, going through the security tapes of the dying F.B.I. Agents that he wanted a second opinion on.

At one point she was forced to pause the tape, look upon the face of a man she had once known, three years ago.

It was a beautiful face of a man she had only sometimes been guarded by. But that shock of the initial recognition faded away as she analyzed the scene it was paused on.

The man – a certain Raye Penber, she recalled as his name – was on the ground of a train station, looking up to something just out of the camera frame...

"You've noticed this, haven't you?" Ryan asked aloud to the crew of them, looking hard at her 'leader', L. She was not amused by whatever plan was in store, her tone clearly showing it by the even and almost hateful sound of it. He looked back at her with wide, innocent eyes that she figured weren't as innocent as they seemed. What she saw on the tape was too big for a detective to miss. And if L was truly the best detective there was, there was no doubt that he had analyzed the tape frame for frame and noticed what she had. There was much more to it than just a second opinion; he didn't need one from her. "You gave me this tape for a reason. Are you testing me?"

"It depends. What have you noticed?" He cocked his head to the side in curiosity.

She sighed. "Alright, look, I'll humor you this time. Penber-" And before she could stop herself the name slipped out, and she inwardly cursed at herself before trying to continue on as if she hadn't let it slip. Hopefully he missed her dropping that name in there, maybe she could play it off like it was in a file, like she had learned from it in a source he hadn't given her. "- is looking off screen at what would be the train. That look in his eyes? It's recognition, anyone could tell you that. His eyes are large, pupils are small, jaw is slightly drop. Though it could just be from his whole heart attack thing."

"You mentioned his name," L picked up on, leveled his head just so he could cock it in the other direction. "And you speak like you're trained in facial recognition."

"I had access to your files," she lied. "I read over some of them, his happened to be one."

"Incorrect, his file is not present."

Dammit, she thought, she was caught. Or was she? Could she lie, say it was actually there? Was he testing her? She hadn't _actually _gone through many of the files, just the ones she deemed important. She couldn't know if his file was on there or not, he could very well be trying to see if she knew if it was. It was a fifty-fifty shot; she could say he was lying, and take the risk that he was and save herself an explanation of her past, or she could admit she once knew him and be straight about everything.

"Now you'relying." She chose the former option, the second seeming too much like defeat. "His file was clearly there, I read it. The video wasn't attached, though." For a moment she studied him, gazed hard into his eyes like his wide ones were doing to her. It was almost like a contest, seeing who would break first under the eyes of the other...

Lord knew it wouldn't be her.

"So it may be."

With that form of possible sign of defeat from the detective, she continued on in her explanation. "So you could pretty well think that there's someone on that train that he recognizes, and I doubt he'd have that look if it was a family member or something similar. Which would mean it would have to be someone he had some form of reason with, perhaps a target, since I doubt a man would care to recognize a store clerk or an old flame in his moments of death."

There was a second of silence, and Ryan's mind started to reel. Did she say too much, too little? Had she passed that test of his, would he demand to know everything about her, would he just raise a gun at her and kill her on the spot?

No, she comforted herself, the form of the boy seemed too weak to fire a gun, like his bones would shatter from the recoil of it. That option was out.

"You are keen, Antoinette-san," came the final response of her 'boss', turning around in his chair to signify his departure from the conversation.

"Yeah, you don't need to praise me like a dog all the time, alright? I don't need verbal recognition of my job," she very neatly shot in his direction. There was something she didn't like about the detective, something that made her feel... antagonistic towards him. So far, she hadn't seen any sign of his 'superior detective skills'. Everything he'd done had been predictable, something _she _would have done were she in his place. There was nothing interesting about him at all, just another man set on surviving another day. Perhaps her antagonism came from her deep-set disappointment.

"It is not praise, just an observation."

She sighed, rolled her eyes, reached into her brown leather jacket to retrieve a smoke. With the clicks of guns, she looked up, noticing all the fire arms pointed at her by five out of the six men she hadn't been introduced to; only that weak black haired man from before hadn't raised his gun to her. Yeah, he was definitely the softie of the bunch, he'd be the one to break first...

"Relax, guys, just grabbing a cigarette," she assured, slowly bringing out her package and lighter to show her innocence. She lit one, put it to her lips while they still watched her, nervous of the girl none of the task members knew. Though L kept a steady head, didn't seem even slightly concerned about the threat that girl could possibly have.

"How old are you...?" the mustached-man who ordered her handcuffs be removed asked, as if amazed by her long-had habit. "Should you really be smoking?"

"Funny," she stated, looking at that man with condescending eyes. "I don't recall asking for your opinion. But for the record, I'm 22."

She blew out a ring of smoke, collapsed back into the chair she sat in.

"So we have two places to go from here, L," she stated, almost taking control of the investigation herself. "We can see who Penber was trailing-"

"Ah." L allowed himself a little form of fake surprise to slip through, turning his chair to look at her, bare feet on his chair and knees brought up to his chest. In that moment she looked oddly at him and his preposterous way of sitting. What the hell was wrong with this kid...? "You previously stated you read his file. Then why do you not know who he was following?"

Fuck, she was caught.

"If we are to work together, Antoinette-san, there cannot be a form of distrust between us."

At that she took a deep inhale of her toxic stick of nicotine, sat up with one elbow on her knee. "You don't seem to trust any of them, and I'm guessing you've known them for a longer time than I. Why should I trust someone who can't trust me?" Then she took another drag, leaned back, muttered under her breath, "Trust is easy to break, anyways."

_An' sometimes we need a bit o' help from the ones we trust ta break the hol' the devil got on us._

…

Matsuda couldn't understand a thing that was happening, able only to stare blankly back and forth between the two having their own private discussion in the middle of a public environment.

That girl – Katrina Antoinette, as he remembered she claimed – was odd. She didn't think of highly of L like they all had. He remembers, almost shamefully, how they had all stated their names boldly the first time they met the detective, and he rose his fingers in the form of a gun and shot them...

She was different, though. She was fearless and confident, had told him a fake name and proceeded on to admit she did so without any form of breaking down or saying her real one. That woman seemed so disinterested in L, so unfazed by his presence or the fact that he was the greatest detective in the world, and thus so refused to give him the respect he so rightfully deserved for such a title.

"Fine," she finally said. And it was like she broke under L's gaze, his emotionless face eating into her being. But the tone of her voice was not ashamed like she had lost, it was not angered at the way she was being forced into a confession. It was as if she had decided on a new course of action, a new way to get what she wanted while pleasing the man she seemed to think so little of. "I worked for the government for a while, Raye Penber happened to be one of the guards who watched me from time to time. I didn't read any files, I don't know who he was trailing. What I _do _know is that we need to pay close attention to whoever he was assigned to, because this is a lead and needs to be followed up on."

For a moment there was silence between everyone. They had a government worker on their team, and yet she was so young...

"You are Ryan," L said without a moment of hesitation.

Matsuda could hardly believe the look on that girl's face, wide eyed and jaw dropped, face pale and still pretty...

…

Hearing him say her name was like bliss, though she wouldn't admit it. No, Ryan didn't know how he knew it, she didn't know why he would state it so suddenly. She didn't know anything, but knowing that her name fell from her lips took such a weight off her chest, left her empty and new and _hopeful_.

L had met her expectations, he had done something so breathtaking with so little information that it made her realize, to the very core of her being, that he was a genius. He was someone she could follow, someone she could put her trust into because he made her feel small and stupid, something she needed in order to follow instructions without rebelling against them in favor of what her own brilliance told her to do.

But more than her confidence in him being restored, more than finally realizing she was wrong, she was finally rejuvenated to hear a voice in another language call her by her English name. For too long was she an Amy or a Katrina or even an Erica. Never had she been called 'Ryan', and the foreignness of hearing her name spoken in Japanese sent a rush up her body. She had been found out by someone smarter than she, she had been beaten by someone and was _glad _it happened.

Despite the curiosity that engulfed her being, Ryan did not want an explanation, didn't want to find out how he knew because it would make that awe and wonder fade, that good feeling inside her dissipate and vanish when it turned out to be nothing more than guesswork.

She asked nothing to the detective, just stood from her seat, butted out her cigarette and approached the detective. Like old friends, she stood in close proximity of him, leaned on his large desk as she examined one of the many screens he set to watch the tapes.

"You're pretty damn smart, kid."

"I am older than you," came his emotionless response.

And as she looked sideways at his blank face, round eyes gazing upon the many screens with constant shifts, she grinned her signature grin and shook her head, blond hair slightly swaying.

In that moment, that antagonistic feeling vanished, replaced by a deep form of interest and respect that had been diminished only minutes ago. In that moment, she felt closer to him, the sound of his rough-smooth voice saying her name nearly carved into her mind.

_You are Ryan._

**[Author's Notes]**

**I really hate writing for L, it's so hard to get him in character, and I feel like I absolutely ruined it here, since I can't really write for someone I have no connection with... Sigh.**

**Oh well, I promise the next chapter will be better. Until then, thank you for reading, and thank you to those who review; it really makes a smile come to my face every time I read one, no matter what it says. Thanks a bunch.**


	5. two percent chance

It seemed that, as time grew on, L grew more reclusive – if that was even possible for the already-secluded detective. He slowly began to pay little to no attention to the conversations that went on amongst the other task members, Ryan noticed, and answered only in the briefest sentences whenever she spoke. Maybe he deemed her as higher than the others, more worthy of a response because of the intelligence she showed by essentially blackmailing him into showing his face. She didn't care why, nor did she care if he did, though. Whether he valued her words or thought the smallest of them mattered nothing to the seemingly unwanted girl.

"Um... Ryan?" the voice of a nervous man questioned politely, the foreignness of the English name evident as it fell from his lips. Dully, she turned her head to face the black haired man she still knew no name of. In a sense, it angered her how those task force members referred to her by her actual name and not the alias she had elegantly created; they did not earn the right to call her such. Only L had figured it out, so therefor only _L _could call her it. Why were they being so... personal?

"Call me Antoinette," she shot out before checking the tone of her voice. It was harsh and rude, she heard as they left her lips. To soften the blow, she granted him a sweet smile, and she swore he believed it despite how much it was forced. "For security reasons."

"O-Of course! I'm Touta Matsuda, nice to meet you."

Looking at him in a sidelong glance, her sweet smile quickly turned arrogant, delicate fingers placing the files she had previously been going through onto the table before her. "Listen here, _Matsuda._" And the way she said his name was laced in venom. "I am a skilled hacker. To give me your name is to give me your life. Would you wish for me to have such power over you? Would you wish to disappear from the face of the world, or be declared dead in your home nation?" She sighed then, gathered her files, folded one leg over the other as she sat upon the office chair. "I would think not. Next time, do be weary of how you present yourself – first name only, last name when you feel like marriage is in order."

And as he looked at her with a shocked form of wonder, followed closely by a stupid smile and weak apology, she realized she didn't like him.

He was stupid, he was brash. He didn't think, just acted. Was he even fit to be on the team?

No, he was weak. He would break. He would compromise them if he was pushed.

If she had a gun, she would have shot him without a second thought. Would have just ended his life and kept them safe from that liability.

"Now, you had a reason for interrupting me, didn't you, Matsuda?"

This time, she felt no need to hide the venom in her voice.

"Oh! Um... I actually just wanted to make you feel welcomed, so..." He gave a shy sort of laugh, rubbed the back of his head.

Welcomed. That was something she never worried about before. Ryan hadn't ever cared if she were welcomed or not. The sites she hacked hadn't ever welcomed her, so why did she need it from people? It seemed absurd, and yet the gesture was almost... comforting. Like she was back home, where all anyone did was make everyone else feel comfortable in their lovely god-loving houses filled with nothing but the devil's intentions.

"And I kind of wanted to ask you some questions about you. To get to know you better, make you feel like part of the team!"

The friendliness of the moment vanished, and she turned her uninterested eyes back to the many reports she was set to go through before the night's end. She had almost 48 minutes before the clock struck midnight and the calendar read January 6th, and speaking to that idiot wasn't making time go any slower.

"It would be stupid to get to know any more about me than you already do. Anything else you learn can be a liability, and if it were ever exposed, you would not only be threatening my life, but the United States of America, and therefor my family. I would have to kill you, Matsuda. And we both don't want that, right?" Another smile from her, another nervous laugh from him.

"I... I see."

Perhaps it was wrong of her to feel, but there was a sad form of pity in her chest for the boy. He seemed so lost, so out of place and upset by her words, like a child she had just denied to allow into her exclusive club. So she sighed, grabbed his hand as he went to leave, ushered him to sit in the chair opposite of hers.

"Tell me about _yourself_, Matsuda. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad idea to get to know those I work with while we're all still alive."

Though her words meant to be comforting, only her smile showed the feelings she wished to emit.

And as she spent more time than she had wanted to half-listening to his rambling, she was inwardly glad of the many mass sessions that had prepared her for that form of torture.

…

Slowly, slowly, they began to leave the headquarters. For a moment she believed she were able to sneak out, too, but that was not the case; L had called her name – oh, that voice saying that name nearly brought her to her knees, like she was nothing more than Rumpelstiltskin and that name was her weakness – and she had halted her procession out the door.

"You are not allowed to leave," he eloquently stated.

A smirk came to her face as her back was turned. Ahead of her, Matsuda stopped his walk down the hall to watch; he had been set to give her a ride home, as he had offered earlier. She had only accepted because she knew it wasn't going to happen.

"What?" Matsuda quickly interjected, half-jumping back into the room to face their 'boss'. "Why not?"

It was as if L payed no mind to the stupid question, instead turning around in his seat and continuing on in his work like nothing more had needed to be said. Which was true, nothing more _did _need to be spoken, for Ryan knew that was what it all amounted to. She knew from the very start, from the moment she left that message, that she wouldn't be allowed out of the detective's grip until the bitter end. Everyone unknown was a threat to him, something he needed to keep under surveillance so his life didn't end prematurely.

"It's fine, Matsuda. I'll see you tomorrow," she kindly offered in place of L.

"Y-Yeah... See you tomorrow, Antoinette!"

She went to return to the room, then thought better of it and spun around to face the retreating back of Matsuda. "Hey! Matsuda!" He turned, faced her with shock – and hope? – in his eyes. "Can you bring me in a vanilla latte on your way here in the morning?"

With a smile he nodded, flashed a thumbs up, and quickly left.

Reentering the room she had been kept in all day, she closed the door to any hope of the outside world.

"You did not put up a fight," L stated, turning his chair to face her as she took off her shoes. "Are you planning to kill me?"

At that she could not help but allow a laugh. "I have the feeling that whatever I say won't change the way you feel on the subject."

"You are correct."

"So allow me to change the conversation to a more productive direction; do you believe I am Kira?"

There was a moment of silence between them, his eyes on her the whole while, watching as she closed the space between them and sat on the chair closest to his, yet still far enough away to be polite.

"There is a two-percent chance you are."

At that she threw her head back, let a heart-felt laugh to resonate throughout that hollow, empty room. "Are you trying to make me feel secure in your presence, like you're not constantly sizing me up? I hijack your system, steal your information, and threaten to compromise you. I force you to show your face, and now I'm on your team. And you only believe there's a _two-percent _chance I'm Kira? If I were you, I would have thought higher, and I'm damn sure you actually do. Don't try to create a fake form of security for me."

Ryan had lived in that form of falsehood for the majority of her life – she didn't want it now, no, not from him.

He said nothing, as if wishing for her to continue on. In that moment she lit a cigarette, took a drag and allowed the silence and smoke to become suffocating before breaking it with her voice.

"Now, look. You said there needs to be trust between us. If there's going to be any of that, you need to be straight with me so I can be straight with you. How much do you actually suspect me of being Kira?"

"Two percent."

"Why?" She almost hissed, fist clenching tightly. Why wasn't it more? She had done so many stupid things, so _why wasn't it higher?_ Why did he keep on that act? "Why are you continuing to lie to me?"

"I am not."

"Then why is it so low? Why is it two percent instead of the near-fifty I assumed you'd think?"

"Because you are not Kira."

"Dammit, I know that!" It wasn't that she wanted to be considered Kira, either. Honestly, Ryan didn't know why she was reacting so violently. Maybe it was because she felt useless compared to him, like she wasn't that big of a threat to a genius if he did not consider her to be a murderous criminal. Maybe it was something deeper. It made no sense to her or her mind, she only knew that she didn't want it to be that low. It was a blind form of rage she was unable to shake until she received an answer. "Why do you believe I'm not?"

There was another moment of stifling silence, though that time she had no control of it. To ease the tension, she put that cigarette to her lips, filling her lungs with poison and awaiting his voice to trail into an explanation.

"Kira hates to lose, which proves he is childish. He also wishes to be dominant, which leads to the conclusion that he is male. You do not hate to lose, you are not childish, you are not male. Thus you are not Kira."

Another deep drag of her cigarette and she ran it to its end in frustration. Yeah, he was right, she wasn't Kira. Maybe she had wanted to be, at one point, to pretend being God and punishing the unworthy. Wouldn't it be fun, she wondered, making people believe the unreal was real? Wouldn't it be ironic, becoming the one thing she had no faith in at all?

"You had noticed the direction of Raye Penber's glance, and had acted on it as a lead. I have run over the idea that you are the one he had recognized on the train, and that you only pointed it out to lower suspicion of yourself, but the way you fight me on the percentages indicates that you are childish and wish to have your worth proven by my accusal or are actually Kira and want to be caught. Given that Kira would not want to be purposely caught so early into his rein, it is clearly the former and you are wishing to amount your existence by my thoughts on you." He paused then, cocked his head as she stared at him with nothing but irritation on her face. Why had he been able to so easily read her, when no one else had before? He was... a genius. Damn, he knew too much from too little, created conclusions before she could even see them being made, had even known they existed herself. "You are also not male. So you cannot be Kira." Then, as if thinking for a second, he added on: "But I have proven you are childish. There is now a three-percent chance you are Kira."

Leaning back in the chair, she sighed, cooled her head as she swayed the desk chair slowly from side to side. On one hand, she knew exactly what he was saying, could follow up and agree with his logic as if it were she, herself, who were stating it. But on the other, it was as if she had no clue what was going on. It was too much information, too little facts... Yet it made sense.

"So you don't think I'm Kira, but you won't allow me to leave."

"You knew that from the beginning."

Ryan scoffed. Yeah, she had, didn't she? It was something she was content with, something she realized would happen. It was a fact, yet why did it hollow her so to hear it come from him...? Was the finality of it too heavy?

As if she gave up on talking, she fell further into her chair, legs straight out before her and arms lazily hung over each side.

In an act to distract herself, she reached over onto his desk and began rereading through the files she had read hours ago. Perhaps she had missed something, some important detail she had accidentally glanced over and thought as nothing...

"Why did you go out of your way to join the taskforce?" L dully posed the question, only the slightest bit of curiosity present in his monotonous voice. If it wasn't for that small bit of interest, Ryan would have assumed he asked only to create conversation.

Looking at him for a moment, his eyes never leaving the many monitor screens with different moving pictures of different scenes, she realized something she wished she hadn't; he was weird. His eyes were wide and rimmed and black and when he looked at her it was like he saw through her, her lies, her personas and right into her soul. They way he sat was peculiar and strange, but so was everything else he did. There was next to nothing about the detective that made him resemble the ones she had often heard about, read about, dreamed about. He was no Sherlock Holmes – he wasn't good looking, he didn't speak with an air of absolute certainty, but of one that made a person self-conscious and afraid, a tone that struck into your heart and scrutinized you. He was too different to be great, too much of an underdog to be on top of the world. Too unnerving to find trust in.

For a moment, she wondered what his story was. When he was younger, was he popular? Did he get picked on, had he ever had a girlfriend? Where were his parents, how did he get into detective work? Did he have some terrible trauma that made him search out someone and from there on he just kept the occupation?

She knew only far too well that people could have several stories behind their appearances, that the strangest boy could be the sweetest.

That a blond catholic-raised girl could take down a government's security and murder a man.

She knew too well.

Judging by his question, she assumed he did, too. Why else would he ask her straight instead of coming to his own conclusion like other people normally did?

Ryan sighed; how could she answer that?

Why had she gone out of her way to join?

"I..." she began. _Thought you were Godless. I thought you were ruthless. _"It's a very complex reason." _I wanted to see you with my own eyes and decide if you were like me. _"I can't entirely describe it, but..." _I wanted to feel like I wasn't alone. That there was someone else who spoke against God. _"It's sort of a personal reason."

Taking his eyes from the screens for a brief moment, his eyes burned holes into hers, two little black orbs hiding thousands of thoughts. "Such as assisting Kira."

At that, she gave a dead, humorless laugh. Kira was trying to be the new God, wasn't he? It was what she had related it to before, something she noticed as she watched the case unfold on TV.

"There is a riddle in that, but it'll only lose its wonder if I tell you what it is." She sat up then, was close to rummaging through her pockets for her cigarettes before remembering she only had a few left. They were best spared for better reasons, more stressful times. "I am..." _Godless. _"Not assisting Kira in any form of the word. Though I don't expect you to believe me, or for my words to change your opinion." For a moment, nothing more was said. His eyes still stared at her with a combustible intensity, she stared back for seconds before closing her lids and plunging into the unknown.

"Tell me," she started. "What do you think of Kira?"

"He is evil," came the immediate response. "He believes he is doing right while he is actually doing wrong. He is confused and misguided."

"Right, right. But what do you think of his _ideals? _Of one man taking control of human life?"

Kira thought he was God. Yes, Ryan still wanted to find an answer to her original, driving question – does L have a God? – but it was something she didn't want to have answered in that moment. It was too soon to hear the answer, she deemed. She didn't want to lose faith in that man so quickly. Maybe just put it off a little bit more, for a little longer. Let herself grow to respect and admire the detective before she had her hopes crushed so hopelessly by what could be the answer she didn't want.

"It is childish and idiotic."

It was all she could do to hold in that sigh she wished to let out in relief.

"Right." Looking to the clock hung above the door she had once gone to leave out of, she stood from her seat. "It's 4:30, L. You should be getting to bed."

"Crime does not sleep," he blankly replied, returning to staring at his screens instead of into her eyes. "Nor do I."

With a smirk, she turned around and headed back to her normal seat with the papers spread about the table before it. She wasn't there to babysit L, why should she care if he stayed up all night? He was a grown man – he could look after himself well enough. It wasn't her place to criticize the actions of a man, especially when she was the same way.

_It's been three and a half days, Ryan._

It was Terrance, she remembers, who had finally confronted her on it. Three and a half days of no sleep, of constant programming and coding until she was certain she had developed carpal tunnel.

_You need sleep, you're going to crash when you need the energy most._

She recalls telling him in her hardest tone: "Shut the hell up."

_You'll sleep now or I'll knock you out myself._

Followed by her sharp voice: "Get the fuck out."

She had work to do, things to finish, tasks to complete. There was no time to sleep, not if she wanted time to call her pa back home. Everything needed to be done or else she wouldn't get to talk to the family she had so sorely disappointed.

And she remembers awaking the next day with that phone by her head, her work halted in a place she didn't remember, and Terrance – that devil of a man with the face of an angel – smiling smugly at her.

_I told you I'd knock you out._


	6. good talk, l

_Please, no... No no no, please don't!_

But it was too late; she couldn't hear a word he screamed. Rage coursed thicker than poison and blood, blinding her, tainting her, changing her into an abominable monster brought forth for the futile purpose of revenge.

_Don't...! Don't hurt 'em, Ryan, please please don't hurt 'em._

His cries grew more and more desperate as she grew farther and farther away, his broken and blue-beaten body helpless in the corner of his hideaway. The barn he resided in had been abandoned and desolate for as long as he could remember, how had she found him? No, he hadn't been home at one in the afternoon like he was told to be – it was already six hours past that. It was natural for his older sister to come looking for him, yet he was sure she didn't know his secret spot, positive she wouldn't be able to find him...

He hadn't expected to see her when the barn door opened, hadn't expected her to rush to him with the speed of a stallion and kneel before him like he constantly knelt before his God.

"Who did this" was all she questioned.

At first he said no names. They had threatened him – _tell anyone and we'll make sure your siblings are next – _and he was afraid. Ryan didn't need to concern herself; they'd hurt her too, wouldn't they? They'd hurt little Mary of eight years after they finished with Ryan, for sure. There would be much punishment on his sisters if he told. If there was any time in his life when he needed to be a man, it was then...

But Ryan didn't care for his bravery. The sick poison was already through her veins, blurring her vision.

"Who did this" she nearly screamed. And she grabbed his hand so delicately in her own, too delicately for the sister he knew of before, for the monster rising within her. Even the light touch sent pain through his body, his entire being blue and black from the beatings he had been receiving regularly, the bullying he had kept secret from all wandering eyes with covering clothing.

Helpless, he told her. Ryan was not Ryan, she was not the sister he knew of. She was... frightening. The love he felt for his older sibling had quickly faded into fear upon looking at her eyes, so wide and angry and... crazy. Was that the look of the insane? The look of people who had lost their mind, lost their God..?

It took her no time to drop his hand and stand from her crouch, marching like he imagines a soldier would walk towards certain death, a warriors death, a death with a fight despite the terrible odds.

She was going out to be hurt. Those boys were older than he, older than her by a year.

Fifteen year old boys. How could fourteen year old Ryan ever hope to win against they?

Weakly he forced his broken body to follow her, legs screaming out with every quickening, staggering step her took in her shadow.

"Don't follow me, Mark" she warned.

At that time he pushed the cautionary words aside.

Sometimes he wished he had listened, instead.

_Don't, Ryan!_

She approached the bullies without any sign of letting down, no sign of fear or intimidation at either their size, gender, or age.

_They'll hurt you!_

And the tears fell from his eyes as she yelled accusations to their faces. He was unable to be strong, he was unable to protect them. Was he a man, was he able to be one ever? How could he ever put his dear sisters in the line of danger...

Why was he so weak?

She threw the first punch, landed the bigger of the two bullies square in the jaw. From either the shock or the impact, he staggered backwards and held his wound, eyes wide with disbelief as he watched her fist fly straight into his friend's cheek, so hard a punch that he, too, was sent stepping backwards.

More and more tears came from the frightened eyes of the eleven year old child, watching as his older sister took on the two who had caused him weeks of pain and heartache.

_Stop it, Ryan! Don't hurt them please...!_

Regardless of how useless it was, he continued to scream, to cry, to beg mercilessly at the sister he scarcely recognized with the blood on her cheeks, her fists, her own wounds showing the crimson colour that nearly made him sick.

For a while he just closed his eyes and screamed out for an end, too afraid to look and too weak to do much else.

The touch on his hand stopped his excessive screaming, and as his eyes opened, the tears fell harder and faster, making his mind go dizzy and weak and his legs give out from under him.

Ryan was bruised and her head was bloody. Blond hair was streaked in the slightest bit of red – maybe she quickly died it, he attempted to lie to himself – and her cheek was dark and puffy, the hands that held his red with effort and the blood of her victims, laying motionless on the stained grass.

He could do nothing but cry and cry, scream out both apologies and pleas of forgiveness.

Even on her back as she walked, he cried and cried, almost unashamed to add his own clear liquid to the mixture of blood and sweat that already resided on her good white shirt, normally reserved for Sunday mass. What would she wear to speak to God now? Was she able to speak to God at all...?

_H-Help me, God..._

Cruelly, he heard her response in the stiffest of tones, the most uninterested of voices: "God ain't gonna save you. Sometimes you gotta save yourself."

…

"..an?"

"Ry..n?"

Blinking a few times, she looked up from the murky liquid she had previously been staring at, the familiar, almost comforting appearance of the vanilla latte she had grown too accustomed to holding in her hands every morning.

"What?" she quickly shot out, unaware that she had ever blanked out in the first place. The crying was somehow all she could hear, that desperate, shrieking whine of an eleven year old boy so afraid of the world. That memory came back too vividly, of her standing above the two beaten and bruised boys who had previously been bullying her little brother, her fists clenched and sore, her voice ominous and quiet among the frightened screams as she questioned rhetorically:

_Where's your God now?_

"Are you alright?" Matsuda nervously asked. Blinking a few more times, she recalled what had happened, what was going on before she blanked and was sent to the past so violently with nothing but the screams ringing through her ears.

"Yeah." And the moment of hesitation and question was gone, herself reverting to the usual, almost-emotionless form she was so used to presenting to others. "I'm fine. We should get back to work."

Without a second word to the man who had brought her the typical morning drink, she stood and left his company at the table, instead opting to pace amongst the room restlessly.

Why had that memory shook her so roughly...? The screams of a helpless boy, the bruised and bloody appearance of her weak younger brother... That little brother who had once previously stated he wished to go off to war and fight like he hadn't been able to fight back then.

"So Penber was trailing this kid, Yagami..." she spoke outwardly, more to herself than anyone else. Ryan needed something – anything – to distract her racing mind in that instant, and what better way was there than to work on the Kira case? She had only spent the previous sleepless night reading and rereading all the files pertaining to it.

"That is my son," the older man she recalls from yesterday said with a sternness she was used to hearing from herself.

"Great, your son is a suspect," she heartlessly informed without requesting further information from the man, though she believed the statement to be old news – shouldn't he already know that his precious child was someone to be considered? "So... Penber was trailing the kid. And then he died. Quite possible the recognition was from seeing the boy on the train. And he's smart, which Kira is... He's got a father, apparently, in the taskforce. So he could have access to the information formerly believed to be leaked..."

She knew a lot of the case from the files and whatever she had asked of L. What she did know made sense in her mind, a logical map being created with all the pieces of information pointing to the Yagami boy being Kira.

"Given his age, his intelligence, and his ambition to succeed, he'll most likely be taking the University entrance exams..."

For a moment she stopped her pace, hung her head and thought.

"Dammit, no..." she conversed with herself, then began pacing once again.

"What are you planning?" the older man began, only to be rudely cut off by her raising hand and a very sharp, 'Shut up'.

In her mind she came to the conclusion – the Yagami kid was Kira. There was no doubt in her mind, or maybe that was merely because there was no evidence to create doubt. Maybe they didn't know how Kira killed, but everything had been pointing in the general direction of the boy to be Kira. He had access to classified information, he went to school and when L had reported that it seemed Kira was school-aged because of the times of death, it had begun to vary the next day. Kira must have had access to the files via his father's computer – she knew all too well how easy it was to get files from a computer from a classified account – and had read that they were onto a student and quickly changed up his timing to throw them off. But that was predictable. Was Kira really _that _predictable?

Perhaps that was the only lead she had onto the boy, accompanied by the assumption his high intelligence and straight A's assisted in his remaining uncaught, but she strongly believed he was Kira.

Yet Ryan said nothing of it to the taskforce members all staring at her in curiosity. She was on no side – whether L or Kira won whatever battle was ensuring had no relevance to her – and perhaps she just wanted to see how it unfolded. It was entertaining, the battle, as was watching the wit of L unfold against that of the now-famous murderer. For as long as she could, she wanted to see just how smart that detective was. She would not be on his side, nor would she be on Kira's. It was all a matter of what she deemed important enough to do, what she found interesting.

Of course she had her own motivations behind it all. Maybe she wanted to see Kira brought down because he was claiming to be 'God'. Yes, she wanted him destroyed to show that there is no higher power, that no one can be such a deity. She wanted him dead, but why should she not have her fun? Kira would rise to power, claim to be a God. Oh, and how those people would worship him as if he were their savior. Wouldn't they be so devastated to have him die? Because really, he was a mortal – he was no God.

There was never a God.

There never would be.

So for the time being she might as well allow them to duke it out and enjoy the ride. If it ever came down to a situation where she needed to take action, she would kill Kira, and if that required killing L as well, then she would.

There would be no God, no matter what the detective felt.

With all eyes on her, she sighed, shook her head and grumbled, "I need more cigarettes."

…

It wasn't until late into the night that L confronted her. In their solidarity, he spoke intellectually to her about the planning she had previously done, of the scheme she had not shared with them despite their questioning looks and statements.

"You had been thinking about taking the university exams to get closer to the Yagami boy," L stated with a cock of his head, that movement she had grown used to seeing him use when he spoke with certainty.

That had been exactly what she was thinking of in those moments before.

"Yeah," she confessed, slumping into a chair after getting a cup of coffee. "It's probably not the best plan-"

"Indeed it is not."

A little insulted, she looked sharply at the strange man. Seeing him, she would have thought he was younger than her, what with his young features and wide, curious eyes that seemed so similar to that of a young toddler's, eager but a little hesitant to see the world around them. Was he honestly over the age of 22?

"Humor me."

Taking it as a request for an explanation, L looked intently into her eyes, unwavering for a single moment in his resolution. "We still do not know how Kira kills. Approaching Yagami Light could be a death wish if it takes nothing important." Awkwardly, he picked up a sugar cube with two fingers and dropped it into his tea, the brown liquid splashing over the rims of the delicate teacup and splattering upon its matching plate. He seemed... British, she realized. "Your plan could lead to death."

For a moment she looked at him, blinked a few times, then gave that arrogant smile with a shrug of her shoulders and a shake of her head.

"Yeah, it's reckless. It could lead to death." Harshly, she looked up, eyes serious but that cocky grin still present upon her lips, fearless and almost challenging. "But we're at a stalemate. Assuming he _is _Kira and he _had _killed Penber and the other agents, it'd be dangerous to trail him again. And any other form of surveillance is illegal. So we'll have to do something daring."

To that, L said nothing. He did not turn in his seat like he normally did to continue his work, nor did he break eye contact.

Taking her seat, she sipped idly on her coffee, looking at the boy she had only spent a day with, someone she pursued not out of love or adoration but of curiosity and interest, a very selfish and almost-insecure reason. He had met and failed to meet her expectations all at once; a puzzle within a riddle.

Everything about him was strange. He was... odd. Different. It was no hard a task to realize how unusual he was. He was self-reserved, quiet to an extent, opinionated in times when he needed to be but secretive for most others. Unless he had a plan he fully decided to go with, he wouldn't speak, and when he did mention it he had full intention to go through with said idea to its conclusion despite what others said.

L was smart, he was intuitive. It seemed that he knew what others would think before they voiced it, his response always calculated and precise as to sway their opinion on whatever matter required it. Yet he refrained from asking her questions in front of the other members. It was only in private, she noticed, that he perused her for answers or offered any himself.

Perhaps it wasn't a huge thing to wonder about – she had only known him for little more than a day, maybe she was jumping to conclusions – but she decided to ask nonetheless. If there was something on her mind she thought he could help with, then by God she would ask.

"Tell me," she began. "Why do you only ask or answer questions like that when the others are gone? Aren't they part of the team, too? Shouldn't they know?"

With a cock of his head, he just stared. So she decided to rephrase her question.

"Yesterday you asked why I had tried so hard to join the taskforce. Yet you asked it in private, when it should have been asked publicly in order for me to gain their trust. I thought of the idea that you don't _want _me to have their trust, but you seem to value my word more than theirs." Seeing the bemused look cross his face for a second, she continued with that thought. "When I talk, you listen. It may be subconsciously, but you listen. When Matsuda or the others speak, it's like you _ignore _what they say completely, unless I take interest in it and question."

"True," he mumbled in agreement, mouth preoccupied with biting the tip of his thumb.

"Today, you waited until they were gone to voice what you thought I was thinking of, when it should have been asked when the scene was unfolding. It would have put me on the spot and the others would have continued to snowball ideas off of mine. Perhaps they would have lost whatever trust they had for me at that point, so I'm assuming you're not trying to have me disliked so much as you're trying to... conceal? I suppose.

"So I'm wondering – why do you wait until they are gone to bring up matters that should have been brought up at a previous time in a public setting? Is it because you wish them not to know of anything, that we two should have a private secret and our own plans? Or do you just not think of the questions until late at night, when you've thought over what I've said and analyzed it?"

For a moment he was silent, and she sipped her coffee in annoyance. The topic of conversation had been something troubling her for a while, something she felt needed to be spoken before she continued on. No, she didn't much have an issue with being asked questions in private by the detective, she just had a problem with the reasoning her mind made up for it. Maybe he _did _want her to be seen as secretive and closed-off, untrustworthy almost, to the others. Maybe he wanted to privately interrogate her without it seeming like so, maybe he just wanted her to remain silent during the day and work with him only at night. But surely she could not be that important yet.

"You have won your position in the taskforce. The others have received a place, therefore they are not comparable to that of you. This is why I pay attention when you speak, as well as why I value your word more than theirs. If you have enough intelligence to bring yourself here on your own accord, then you are useful in capturing Kira." He returned his cocked head back to normal, she took another long sip of coffee. "You seem reluctant to answer in public. Therefor I ask in private. You are less likely to lie if you feel you can speak the truth. You are not comfortable with them, are you?"

Unconsciously, she clenched her jaw. Damn, was she that easy to read? No, she didn't like the taskforce members at all. They were nothing to her, Matsuda her only tool to gain the items of the outside world. The others were nothing more than pawns to use and play against the almighty Grandmaster Kira, currently ruling the rankings with them a close second. She felt they did not need to know anything, that they were liabilities; any information shared was information lost.

As if out of shame, she lit a cigarette and ignored his comments like they were not said at all. It was better than giving an answer, she knew – silence was the best response there was. It created less discrepancies, caused one to continue to elaborate in fear that their point was not made. It was useful.

"Right now you are thinking how correct I am."

With a sharp inhale of toxins, she looked at him with lack of amusement on her face, exhaled the smoke slowly as if to exaggerate her reaction to his observation. Ryan was a prideful creature, like most humans. Having her flaws rubbed in her face, flaws she had deemed hidden but were pointed out so obviously, only created anger within her.

It was not anger, though. No, anger was what she felt when she found Mark, all bruised and beat. There was none of that familiar loss of control, none of the urgency in her limbs like then. It was more of a... dull annoyance, she felt. An irritation she wouldn't be able to shake off for a while because of his words.

But instead of lashing out, she sighed, controlled her harsh words and bit them back against what she felt.

"So what's the next move, in regards to Kira?"

There was a moment of pause, as if he were analyzing the risks of prematurely unveiling his plan. As if thinking there was none, he answered.

"Video surveillance will be put inside the Yagami and Kitamura households."

"Kitamura...?" Ryan repeated, looking in her mind for an answer to the oddly familiar name. "Oh. That's the other one Penber was trailing." She shook her head then, puffed another bit of her cigarette before continuing. "Hardly seems worth the effort to monitor that one."

"You rule out possibilities too easily," he expressionlessly scolded, more an observation than an attack at all.

She shrugged, just as expressionless as he had been. "I just go for the most probably choice. Yeah, the Kitamura guy could be _pretending _to be stupid and unremarkable, but the Yagami boy is surpassing him in both intelligence and skills on the visible side. If you have a fit athletic kid and a scrawny, breakable boy left to choose from for your basketball team, who do you choose? The fit athletic kid, because he seems the most probably to help you out on your cause." A quick drag between her words. "If Kira wasn't brilliant, you would have already caught him, right? So Kira has to be the best of the best, the most talented kid you can find. And that seems to be Yagami. Why bother with the scrawny twerp at all?"

"...It must still be investigated."

Another shrug, another drag. Then she stood, left her butt in her near-ended coffee and stood from the table it resided on, walking towards him and taking the seat beside him. For a moment she just sat there, the both of them silent with such close proximity to one another. Then finally she sighed, closed her eyes, sunk further into her seat as he turned his and stared.

"What is it?" he questioned.

"Nothing," she lied. But it wasn't nothing at all. The screaming she had heard earlier was in her mind, haunting her more than it had that night. Constantly her mind seemed to remind her of that torture she had forced her brother into watching. How could she had been so oblivious...? It was extreme rage she had acted out of, but he would be afraid of her for a lifetime. Even now she knew Mark was scared of her, of that raw power drawn from a purer source of anger. He still regarded her with a form of scar from that event, a hesitation whenever he went to fight her on a point. It was... hollowing.

"You got any siblings, L?"

It wasn't something she had wanted to ask, but something she thought would get her mind off of Mark. Maybe, if L launched into a large spiel about his family, she could lose herself in his life and pretend it was her own for a few moments, forget her family and the shame and pain she had brought upon them.

"I do not."

"Only child?"

"I suppose."

With a sigh, she sunk deeper into both her chair and the feeling of depression. The way he answered showed he had no interest in the topic, he wouldn't humor her. L was only answering out of politeness, not a general willingness to talk. What was the use of asking any more about his life, then? There was none, and that was fine – she wasn't entirely interested anyway.

Maybe it was the desperation to have a conversation take her mind off the screaming, the scared, helpless expression of an innocent boy she could no longer recognize, that made her ask such a silly question she swore she didn't want to know the answer to.

"How'd you know my name?"

She did not open her eyes as she asked, did not look up to his face in fear of the smugness on it, the reality of the simplest answer evident upon it. She didn't want the spell to be broken, didn't want to hear the answer and be sent back to the land of disappointment at the smart man who would probably be so average after.

"I have known you for a long time," came his puzzling answer. For a moment she was dazed, almost confused. She had never met a man like him in all her life. There was never someone who looked so peculiarly odd in her town, she had never gone any place where she could have met someone with such... oddities.

"Dammit, you're the young kid, weren't you?" she sorely breathed, more whisper than words once the ideas formed in her head.

"Yes," he answered, already knowing what she was getting at.

"Four years... Four years of service. 'Cause of you, huh?"

"Yes."

She opened her eyes then, weakly looked up to his emotionless face, spent no time calculating his features and just stared into those eyes of his. There was nothing within her that felt hatred towards him, no reason for that antagonistic feeling to reside in herself any longer than it had. It was as if that answer forced all bad thoughts of the boy out of her mind, for he was the one who caught her. He was the one who won by default because of a stupid mistake made by a younger brother, that same younger brother she had scarred so deeply, who she wanted to forget with the question she asked...

Maybe it was all just a form of payback, karma working its magic.

Four years of servitude compared to the lifetime of fear Mark would suffer.

It hardly seemed like a fair trade.

"And you're gonna let me work on the taskforce? Knowing everything?"

"Yes. You are not Kira, therefor there is no risk."

"And... I'm not Kira because I'm a criminal. I'm what Kira wants to get rid of. Right, got it. That's why, yesterday..."

"Yes."

For a moment she paused, looked into his eyes for a calculating moment later – such eyes as his showed no shame or regret, showed nothing to mark him as human. _Was _he human? It seemed almost too likely he wasn't, Ryan thought, he was too smart, too clever – before looking away and lowering her lids.

Then she stood, but there was no anger in her body like he expected there to be when a criminal faces their jailor. Instead, it was replaced with a lack of everything. She stood without anything, so odd for the girl he thought he knew. Over the years he had Watari keep tabs on the girl he was almost unable to catch because of her prolific skill in computing. He just wanted to see what would happen, he never intended to get involve and propose the idea that her jail sentence should be replaced by service to the government...

It just happened.

"So you're the one who..." she began, then shook her head as if to dismiss it. But that cocky smile came to her face, and she looked at him with that familiar fearlessness Matsuda always seemed to comment on when she left the room, that trait he gushed and adored of the girl. "I just want you to know, you didn't catch me with skill. You caught me with luck, alright?"

"I know."

"And one day, I'm gonna request a rematch, alright? I'm not content with losing to some punk like you."

"Fine."

"Right, good talk, L. Good talk." She remembers her father constantly saying that after he had a serious conversation with her. The most notable time, Ryan remembers, was when he talked to her about boys and their appendages. How, even though they were in a Christian little town, there may still be mean people trying to assault a beautiful girl like her. Inwardly she smiles, outwardly she keeps her cocky grin ringing true. "I'll start arranging for the placements of the surveillance cameras in both households. It's criminal activity – I think I specialize at this part."

And as she walked off, L watched her back.

That was... nothing like the confrontation he expected.

He thought she would yell.

Most definitely he thought he would get hit. He had heard of her assaults upon her guards when she worked for the government. More than once, Watari had mentioned that 'the young hacker' had punched another man for angering her.

It was... a pleasant form of disappointment, he noticed.

And as he turned around to continue his work, he heard the flick of her lighter and smelt the smoke. She was working, safe from whatever slump she had evidently been in when she began asking of his family.

Perhaps, maybe, L believed, he was most relieved that she had changed the subject from the one they had previously been on. Family... Siblings.

For too long he had lived with the dull memory of a family he lost, the warmth of a mother he had been torn from, the proud smiles of a father who saw a son to play baseball with.

That family had been pulled from him, and he disposed of at Whammy's, where he would grow and learn and become great.

Yes, he was over it. Yes, Watari was his family now. So why did it feel so... uncomfortable when she asked of it? Others had most certainly asked before her, so why...?

He would allow it to go for now. But one day he would start up on that question and seek its answer with haste, just not today. He was already weary from a day without sleep, his second already underway without rest. So instead he just drank his all-too-sweet tea, and watched his monitors closely...

One day, he would reach an answer.

One day.


	7. i want in

He poses the question as they sit in their usual spot, his hands fumbling around on his lap while hers are poised on the coffee she keeps on the table and the cigarette she holds to her mouth.

"Have you ever been in love?"

Slowly she turns to look at him, not a sign of shock or embarrassment on her face like he had always seen on television. She is emotionless, a face as stern and as beautiful as an angel of hard stone. In that moment he is afraid, but only for a second – Ryan is unlike anything his father had warned him about, anything he had ever been with before. His reactions and responses always fall short and free-fall about, he is always left to pick them up and compose himself when most normally it had been the women doing such acts. She... disgruntles him, and sometimes he thinks it's not just him who feels her unsettling presence like an elephant in a room.

"Love?" she repeats, and he notices the word is not as happy a thing when it leaves her lips. 'Love' is not a joyful mix of emotions like he knows it as, it is not the most confusing and exciting and aggravating thing. No, when she says it, it is nothing but a word with a meaning she has already figured out; a question answered and further ignored. "Everyone falls in love, once or twice."

"Thirteen," Matsuda states, staring at her with a determination he never knew he possessed. There's something about her answer – that flickering look in her eyes, the way her body is tense but relaxed as if she doesn't know how to react to such a topic – that forces him to continue speaking of it as if no one else was in the room but they. "I've been in love thirteen times."

"Is this you confessing an undying love for me, Matsuda?" she jokes.

"No." And he could see her almost flinch at the finality in his statement. "I'm trying to connect with you, I want to get to know you."

"I told you it's dangerous." She sips her coffee and glares over the cup at him, giving him a warning that he promptly ignores.

"How many times have you been in love? It's an innocent question."

For a moment he saw her anger – and for that moment he was scared – but was reassured when she sighed and avoided his eyes, jaw clenching and releasing itself a few times before a quiet answer was received.

"Twice."

"What were they like?"

He watches as she looks up and grins at him, a smile so much more sinister than the others that it sends a shiver down his spine. She had threatened him with death before, she had been cold and cruel and then respectful and almost-kind when she listened to him speak. But that smile, that semi-psychotic grin she gave him, wiped away every kind of person he thought she was. It was that smile that made him regret asking and pushing the issue, made his temporary resolve fade and caused him to want to cower.

"Terrible," she admitted. He wished she would leave it at that, tell him to speak of his own life instead; he was too afraid of the sudden change in her, he didn't know how to act around this new, frightening form of the girl who had always changed shapes before.

And he was inwardly glad – and allowed a relieved sigh to escape his lips – when she leaned back and stood from her chair.

"How about we stop talking," she suggests easily, "And continue with something more important, like catching a killer?"

…

"It's been three days already, L."

But he's already aware of that.

"Have you found anything from the cameras?"

He'd answer, but he's aware she already knows what he'll say.

"Kitamura... he's a dull bastard, isn't he?"

Even though she stands behind him by a few feet, he can hear that grin on her face, the smugness in her voice.

Again, he's aware of the answer he'd be forced to give – "yes" – and of what she'd want to hear – "you were right" – so he does not speak.

He is childish. He wants to win, always.

But so is she. And this time, he'd lost to her, in some way.

"What do we do now, chief?"

Hearing that word usually saved for Yagami Soichiro used for him is almost disgruntling. Why would _he_ be called 'chief', when Soichiro is chief of the police? It is foolish, it's irritating, somehow. As if to show his unsettled emotions towards that title, he does not answer the question and merely stares at his monitors. He knows it will be only a few seconds before she sits beside him...

As Ryan sighs, he hears the click of a lighter and the scent of smoke, the clicking of heels (for a moment he idly wonders how she could stand wearing those sharp heels for such a long amount of days) as she crosses the distance from where she was and where he is.

"I already looked up when the tests are being written for universities. Asked the papa-Kira where his kid was going to. To-Oh, he said."

He is almost amused by her nickname for Soichiro, "papa-Kira". But that amusement is dulled by the knowledge that she had done something against his wishes. He had ordered her to continue research into the criminals, but she had been doing something else. It wasn't anger or displeasure or anything even a little bit malicious towards her actions, only a softened form of disappointment at being ignored.

"I registered myself to take the test. January 17th, I have to head down to the examination hall."

"You did not graduate high school. How do you intend to pass the exam?" He does not face her as he speaks; he knows she'll be upset at the topic he brought up.

But he smells the exhale of the smoke and hears her sigh, and he knows she is alright. She's not like other people he had dealt with before, women who rioted when an embarrassment of their past was brought up, who became enraged when their faults were pointed out. She was immune to shame, he imagined. She had been caught doing illegal things in her own home and town, had been publicly humiliated as she was dragged from her house and sent to Washington, where she would be further shamed when she was forced into a small room with a computer and given orders she would have to obey or be sent to life in prison.

She bit her lip, looked at one side of his pale face because she was not granted to look at the entirety of it, stared into the side of the wide, black-coloured eyes of his and hoped, inwardly, that he would turn and their eyes would meet so she could slam the determination of hers into his own.

"You have a grade ten education, you will not pass the exam." And still he did not look to her, though all-too aware of her gaze on him, analyzing, watching, reading his every move.

"No, I won't. Which is why you're going to tag along."

He was intrigued – had she already thought of a plan that he agreed to and continued on with? – but still he did not face her.

She knew he was using silence to get her to answer without being acknowledged. So she stopped talking, stopped looking at him. She turned forward and faced the monitors instead of him and smoked her cigarette contently until its end, lighting up another one a few moments after.

By the time her second cigarette burned out, neither had spoken. Both were stubborn, waiting for the other to crack with the small amount of tension present between them.

"I have had this idea long before you appeared. I do not need you present."

And Ryan grinned as he broke, as his eyes turned to her and he focused on what she was going to say.

"Oh? And what do you plan to accomplish from going to the examination hall alone? You go, write the test, and head back here? You get to watch Kira write a test, too? The kid's smart. Papa-Kira says he's going to get a perfect score. You're probably going to, as well, since I can't imagine the all-amazing L lowering himself to an average mark on an entrance exam."

She smiled; he did not. She was correct in her assumption that he would achieve a perfect score, but he did not allow her the victory from it.

For a moment she searched his face, hoping for some miracle to have occurred where he suddenly understood her faulty plan and agreed to it. But he stared back blankly, and she sighed, lit up a third cigarette, and continued talking.

"I'm a female, you're not. The chances of my getting closer to Kira and your getting closer to Kira are very much in my favor."

She remembers the tasks she had once had to do, the teachings those guards had one taught her. That one guard – Halle Bullook, who only stayed for a small while – had taught her the art of seduction – a skill she claimed would assist her in getting many types of information.

Halle was a year older, the best of her crew. At 20 years of age, she had a presence which called people to look at her.

It was the presence that Ryan soon learned to inherit, the one that people noticed when she walked into a room, the one she could manipulate to make her seem frightening or irresistible.

She had Halle to thank.

But she could see the fading interest in L's eyes so she sighed, leaned back, stuck her cigarette on the side of her lips and left it there.

"The seventeenth, L. Let me show you my worth on the seventeenth."

…

He ended the surveillance of the households the next morning, Ryan noticed. He announced his plan to the others about writing the entrance exam for To-Oh.

But he hadn't mentioned her.

He didn't say she was to be going, as well.

Inwardly, she was pissed off. But she said nothing, awaited until the evening to confront him on his betrayal.

"What the fuck?" she said, more a statement than a question at all.

And though he looked at her, L said nothing, just watched as she made her way to the seat by him, sat with her legs lax against the chair, her entire being slouched over in disappointment.

"I'm not allowed to go?"

He heard the acid in her voice, cleverly concealed by the emotionless expression on her face.

But L knew women, he knew how short-wired they could be. She'd be mad for a few days, maybe a week, maybe a month. She'd hate him and – maybe – refuse to talk to him. But eventually she'd find something interesting (he'd make sure she did, if it came down to it) and she'd be back in the investigation as if nothing had ever transpired between them at all concerning the university.

Ryan was a valuable addition to the team, he knew. Yes, he couldn't afford to lose her assistance so early into the game, not yet. No, he still didn't care about her, he did not feel anything more than a small form of respect and a tiny amount of interest, but he couldn't allow her to go forth with her plan of getting close to Kira, like he knew she intended. It would kill her, if she did something wrong. Perhaps it would kill him, too.

He couldn't take that risk.

"I've been here for a week," she exhaled, exasperated. "You know I'm not Kira, and I'm not on his side, so why?"

"It endangers me," he admitted.

"Bullshit!" she near yelled, smacking her hand on the desk.

He knew she was angry, knew that she felt defeated and belittled, like a business man who's plan had been snatched from him by a rival company. Seeing her enraged only made it easier to feel like he had made the correct choice in going alone – her emotions might have taken over when she was with Light.

L watched, blankly, as she lit a cigarette and inhaled it, calming herself with the toxins she released into her body. Somewhere in him, he felt... distressed, at how much she was smoking. It seemed like she was a pack-and-a-half a day kind of smoker, going through them like liquid gold when she was working on something exceptionally hard. If Kira didn't kill her, L realized, smoking would.

"I want in," she demanded. "I don't want to be sitting behind a locked door, _waiting. _I want to be out there, I want to help."

He gave no reaction when she glared at him; L knew her reasoning behind her logic, but he did not voice it. There was something malicious inside him – maybe originating in her first mocking statements to him the night previous about the Kitamura family – that wanted her to admit her own insecurity.

"Why do you feel you need to? You would be helping just as much here."

"_No,_" hissed she. "I refuse to be left behind."

"It is not your decision."

"To live or die _is _my decision, though, and it's as if you're stripping me of that privilege."

There was a pause between them, lingering silence laced with tension and lined with unvoiced hatred.

So L adverted his eyes, began picking up sugar cubes from the plate by his many screens and stacking them up, high and higher... Maybe, one day, they'd touch the sky. But L knew better than that, he knew that was an impossible task. A gust of wind or a rain storm and his work would be gone, not to mention the intensity of the sun burning on its chemical compounds and reducing it to nothing more than a sticky white liquid.

Sticky white liquid.

Why did those words seem to stiffen his body?

… Desire, he finally decided. It had been... two years since he had been in contact with a woman. The last time, if he remembered correct (and he always did, of course), was when he hugged Misora Naomi. That had been the last time.

And maybe he felt no affection for the girl staring daggers at him, but it was a hard task to call her unattractive. Because she wasn't. Ryan was beautiful, a country beauty he had almost watched grow from a kid to a woman of – perhaps – tainted nature. She was smart, she was cunning. And perhaps those traits alone made her so... _irresistible_, to a man. He could see the way Matsuda looked at their foreign companion, and he could only imagine he, himself, was doing his best to cover up that look in his eyes.

No, he didn't love her. No, he probably didn't even like her. But he respected her, he admired her skills and determination. He felt closer to her than the others on the team, knew she was someone he could share plans with and accept criticism from.

So no, he didn't love her.

He just wanted to use her.

But he would not, no. L had grown too strong to resisting temptation and desire and _needs_. Needs! What a silly thing, he thought. Sleep was a need, yet he was able to put it off for days and days before giving in. Sex was a need, yes, but he could live without it for years and years, it didn't affect him.

Just having her there...

Looking so angry, so passionate about something...

"You are correct."

"So let me write the test!"

It wasn't that he snapped. He just couldn't... see her looking like that, nose wrinkled and lips pouted in frustration, her skin so flawless and face so beautiful even with the ugly of anger all over it. His body was reacting different than his mind (for men happen to have two brains, he realized when he was younger, one more predominant in the face of woman than the other), he needed to get her away so he could pass the random string of desire he had occasionally felt in his younger years, in England, where he was still free to indulge himself in whatever toxin or problem he wished to.

"You wish to assist because you are insecure about yourself. You were kept behind a computer for four years while others completed the assignments you made capable of finishing, and you would watch as they received the praise." He paused, watched her face as it struggled to keep her irritated expression present. "You do not wish to have that happen again. Now that you are free and assisting in a case, you wish to be present and notable in its completion. Or perhaps you wish to be seen as someone worthy of praise, given your past. You must feel like a failure to your parents, maybe you wish to play a large part in this investigation to bring your name out of the dirt."

And he saw as her fists clenched, and for a moment he was sure he was going to be hit.

But she didn't, she just sighed and that irresistible look was wiped from her face.

"So you know my story, now let me write the test."

"What is your plan?"

He listened, glad for the distraction, as she outlined everything she planned to do, where they were to meet, what she planned to happen.

And he admired her work, her clever thinking, her elaborate planning. Everything made sense, everything would assist. It was dangerous; she claimed she didn't care of the risk.

So finally he agreed to her plan.

The seventeenth would definitely be a day to mark down.

…

**[Author's Note]**

**Hey, everyone. Thanks a bunch for reading the story thus far. Really means a lot. I went over and read all the chapters, and I realized something terrible wrong... Well, maybe not terribly wrong, but it bothers me.**

** ):**

** I won't tell you, since it's not important. I'd be super impressed if you found out what it was, anyways.**

** But! What I wanted to say was: PLEASE REVIEW. I love hearing what you all have to say about this story, I love your opinions and constructive criticism and everything. You're all so beautiful.**

** L is... I don't even know. I just figured, you know, that men have needs and so does L. I mean, really, I'm sure he has solo session every now and again (who said that, what?). Right...**

** Have a good day, everyone! Thanks a lot for reading! Next chapter: KIRA. **


	8. may i ask

The view was stunning from where she stood, twelve stories off the ground. Dully, she wondered why people made such a big fuss about winter back in America. The snow that fell seemed soft and delicate, hardly the bringing of despair like many had made it seem. In her mind, they were lucky to experience such beauty, even if it did come with the consequence of cold.

_What is beauty withou' corruption t' brighten it?_

Her father had once said that, so long ago when she posed the question: 'why does a rose have thorns?'

At the time, she hadn't understood what he meant. She was a child, eleven years old and wondrous, begging for answers but never worrying if she comprehended them.

Sighing from the thought of her father – the father she had not seen in weeks – she leaned upon the balcony bars and stared down below, unwilling to retreat back to the room she shared with the detective once responsible for putting 1329 miles between she and her family.

This was the third hotel they had been in since she joined the task force, the first one that had a balcony. It was nice, Ryan realized, being able to feel the wind again, being able to stand outside instead of being ushered along by an officer tasked with transporting her to the next location.

As she exhaled the smoke previously inhaled from her cigarette, she smiled – a genuine smile – while she tried to distinguish what part of the fog was from the smoke and what part was of her breath.

"It's quite cold outside," a voice spoke.

Slowly – there was no danger, she knew – Ryan turned to the door back to the room. There stood the man, the one who brought her meals and change of clothes, the one who had been nothing but kind and courteous despite it all. He was older, lines of age and proof of years spent alive crossing his face, hair white and eyes a stark blue. If she recalled, he had introduced himself as Watari the first time he had brought her clothes from her home.

_A man'll makes himself bleed for a rose. The pain's worth it for th' prettiness._

"It's worth it," she responded easily, staring at his unchanging face.

In his hand he held her brown jacket, standing tall as he politely asked, "Would you care for your jacket?"

Ryan smiled as she finished her cigarette, squished it into the container beside her. There was something about Watari – maybe his kindness, maybe the way he looked after her so well – that made her think of her father. In some form, it was hollowing; she was never able to see her father again, she wouldn't be able to talk with him. Yet in another it was enlightening, almost fulfilling.

She walked forward, removed her shoes as she entered the hotel room where he stood.

"Dinner is served," he continued, still standing where he was.

Standing up from removing her shoes, she grinned, laughed. Dinner would be the same as every other day she had been there – a microwaved something-or-other. The only excitement of dinner, she realized, was seeing what type of ramen it was that day.

"Thanks," she idly muttered as she made her way to the usual spot she sat at, the paperwork previously left abandoned for a cigarette still patiently waiting where she had left it, a new addition – pork flavored ramen – sitting beside them.

"Do you enjoy the snow?" Watari asked. Wide-eyed, she looked up to him. He hadn't made himself present before, only ever dropping off her food or clothes and disappearing to some room she would never enter. It was a first for him to ask questions once his job was done, and somehow she was glad he was speaking. Maybe it meant he was more comfortable, maybe it meant she was earning more and more trust.

"Yeah, I guess," she answered, running the chopsticks around in the styrofoam cup containing her food. "There was never any snow in Texas. Never really saw it until I came to Japan. It's still pretty new to me, honestly."

"There was none in Washington?"

With a scoff she shakes her head. "There was snow there, yeah. I never got to see it, though. I was kept in a small room with a computer and that was where I stayed. I was still a prisoner, despite working for them..." There's silence as she eats a little. "They kept a small, square window way up on the wall. Couldn't look through it, couldn't see where I was, couldn't see the weather. They kept it open for me, so I could feel when it was snowing. But I never saw it, no."

"Did you enjoy your time in Washington?"

_Them thorns?_

Blankly she stared at Watari, at L sitting behind where he stood, his attention focused on the changing monitor screens before him. For a moment, Ryan didn't know how to answer. Should she speak to them about it? They knew it all, didn't they? They knew she was a criminal, knew by Watari's questions that she had been held in Washington to do the government's bidding. There was no fear of them breaking like Matsuda, there was no worry about the safety of her family with answering his innocent question.

"No," she finally admitted, stirring the noodles once more. "But what person actually enjoys punishment? It was... fine. I had the necessities, I kept myself busy when there wasn't any assignments."

"Yet you did not enjoy it."

_They're for protection._

Slowly she pulled her eyes from her food, turned them towards Watari's clear blue ones. She wondered, then, if he would understand if she told him. Would he think she was crazy like she occasionally thought of herself, would he feel insecure with her around? With a sigh, she shook her head, decided against the truth and keeping to the pretend life she had always lead before.

_Somethin' so beautiful gotta protect itself 'gainst the dangers of men._

"I missed my family," she lied.

"May I ask," he politely inquired, despite seeing her returning to her food and work. "Why did you not return home after you were released?"

_Just like ya gotta protect ye'rself from danger._

She looked up to him, eyes more accusing this time, more demanding for explanation. How much did he know? How much had they learned? Never had she mentioned that she hadn't gone home after her confinement, never had she mentioned why or where or anything that came after her release. So how did he know she did not return...? Between L perfectly listing her insecurities and Watari asking such personal questions, she needed to know the answer to the question booming inside her mind since L had first stated her name.

_You're jus' like them roses, Ryan. Ya just gotta grow some thorns._

"Tell me, Watari, how much do you know about me?"

And his smile was still comforting, still sweet as he kindly admitted: "Everything."

…

**[Author's Note]**

** Sorry for the short chapter, everyone. **

** ):**

** I just needed to post this up 'cause I didn't want to keep you waiting for four months or something, since I'm not feeling so creative anymore... But yes, here it is, I hope to get the next chapter up real soon**

** R&R please? (:**


	9. changed the plan

He wouldn't have recognized her if it hadn't been for those stark blue eyes. Nearly everything about her had changed – from the colour of her hair to the style of clothes she wore – yet her eyes remained the same; still blue, still uninterested.

"I-Is something going on...?" he nervously asked, handing the now-black-haired girl the usual vanilla latte he brought for her. With a small smile and a short nod in thanks, she took the drink and a step back, looking over her shoulder to L as if waiting for him to answer the posed question.

Seeing him show no interest in the question, she sighed, took a sip of her sweet drink before bothering to respond to the still-waiting Matsuda and crew.

"Tomorrow's the seventeenth," she clarified as though it was the clearest answer ever given.

Soichiro shook his head, pushing past Matsuda and proceeding to his usual job of sorting through evidence and case information. "The entrance exam is tomorrow," he added.

Slowly, Ryan nodded, turned on her heel and proceeded towards where L sat, uninterested in whatever the others had been speaking of. Only the cases on the monitors, the huge blocks of text written in multiple languages or the changing videos seemed to capture his attention nowadays, she realized.

Taking a seat in the usual seat of hers at the table, her hand ran itself through her dyed black hair, almost sad to see the blond of her past given up for such a darker shade. She knew it didn't suit her; dark hair never did. Her skin was too peachy of a colour to pull of such a dark shade, her eyes were too light to compliment the lack thereof within her hair. She must look weird, she thought, but what did she care? With all her years, Ryan had hardly been one to care for fashion or what other people perceived as beauty or style – she focused only on her goals, on her hacking and online friendships more than the personable ones of 'reality'.

"You're taking the exam?" Aizawa asked, almost flabbergasted at the amount of leeway she had attained from the prodigy detective. After all they had done for L, after they had captured the girl who threatened to sell him out, who had blackmailed him, he now intended to let her go and write an exam? Of course, they knew L, himself, was to write the test as well, but... Could L really stop someone like her? If she were to turn and become an enemy, would L be able to protect himself against not only a suspected Kira but from a former-government official, as well?

Ryan felt no need to answer his silly question; she never entirely liked that man, anyways. Something about his personality, how he was so pessimistic and so... disagreeable. Something about him always got her the wrong way, she was glad when he was silent. Despite not having properly met him over her time amongst them, she knew it wasn't required; she'd never be straight with a man who seemed so willing to disobey with their leader. He was too much like herself, and – if she knew herself as well as she thought – she knew he shouldn't be trusted to follow a leader without a word of disagreement or strife.

But he continued on, gave a short laugh more of annoyance than actual humor. "So what's the plan, then? The both of you are writing it? Both get full marks and corner Kira?"

And, sharply, her anger rose to extremes. If it was from the tone of his voice or the previously seated feelings of dislike towards the man, she couldn't tell; each seemed to be equal parts responsible for her irritation.

"If you want to say something, say it. Don't be a coward," she harshly announced. In her seat, she turned and stared him down, well aware of not only the eyes of the other members that shifted between her and Aizawa, but of the tension and anxiousness her words brought about. It was as if she were initiating a challenge and fight, a way to end both their frustrations and ill feelings.

But Soichiro was the one to interfere, to raise his voice and demand and end to such foolish antics. As he had stated it, they had enough issues with finding and taking care of Kira to have any time to worry about interoffice problems.

And for a while both agreed with what he said, turned away from one another and focused their attention on other tasks needing to be done, dropping the topic of the entrance exam in its entirety.

…

Sitting in his designated spot for the exams, L sat with his knees brought to his chest, examining to the full extent the room filled with prospective To-Oh students. Once or twice he had noticed his target – Yagami Light – amongst the clusters of anxious young adults, all awaiting for the clock to tick the time away to their examination time.

Hearing the sound of heels and inhaling the scents of flowers and sophistication as a black haired figured passed his seat, he realized that she had finally arrived.

Looking at her as she walked, he realized that she had gone through a complete transformation for this one day. From all L had heard from Watari's check-ins concerning the 'young hacker' from her government days, as well as from the impression she had left the first day they met on that January 5th evening, she showed to have a darker form of dressing than what she was currently wearing. More than often she preferred to wear tight jeans in blue or black, shirts always having some form of American band name printed across it with some sort of gruesome or unrelated picture below.

But today she wore clothes in white or brown, looking more professional than punk. A short skirt of a light brown hung from her hips and to her knees, black heels elongating her already-long legs, a white blouse on her torso and tucked into her skirt covered by a blazer of a similar colour to her skirt. If L didn't know his accomplice was to be taking the exam, he was sure he would have mistaken her for an office worker of sorts.

As Ryan had explained in her plan, she was not going to associate with Light in any forms of the means. Her job in the examination hall was to create contacts whom she could befriend and request information from on the account of Light's daily school life and classes, or how he acted during those hours. But as he saw her look lost and confused in the room, as she made her way towards the Yagami, he knew her plan had changed without his knowledge of it.

And when she convincingly bumped into him accidentally, his assumption was made truthful. Inwardly, he was enraged and irritated and disappointed – he had trusted her to fulfill her orders to the T, and yet she had broken them without his consent and done something that may or may not put her in risk of death.

But he knew that was coming. He knew she was unpredictable most days, knew she wished to execute and finish things in the most direct and obvious path possible. That trait had been seen all throughout her life, from the way she attacked a big name website as her first online target, despite being aware of the consequences and attention that would come forth with its downfall, to how she hacked into his computer and took his files, knowing full well of the illegal weight it carried. Or how she had handed herself over to him in an attempt – an act she probably knew could go many ways which were not ideal, such as death or imprisonment – to get on the investigation team.

Everything about her seemed to follow the rules a computer would work by – straight and to the point. L reasoned that, perhaps by coding for such machines all her life, she, too, had grown to inhabit that form of direct lifestyle in her life. Everything – from the way she spoke to how she moved – indicated that his idea rang true.

So he watched, unable to make a move without jeopardizing both their safety, as she bowed in apology and spoke to their target. Even without knowing her words, L knew she was good at both conversing and creating relationships with people; Light seemed interested in all she had to say, though perhaps it was just an act he used in public.

With an inaudible sigh, L counted down the minutes of watching that torturous hell before the exam started. Maybe problem solving would help ease his new-found frustrations.

…

As she handed her test in before both L and Light, she knew she was going to receive hell for what she had done. From the smile Light gave her as she walked past his desk to the expressionless look she received from L, Ryan was unsure of what to feel. Should she be joyous that she had made a good impression with Light and had exchanged phone numbers, or should she be fearing for the lecture and worse from the detective she was to report to later that evening when they met at the hotel?

Exiting the building, she took her package of smokes and lit one up, putting it to her mouth and inhaling the toxins as deeply as she could.

How was she ever going to go about explaining herself...?

…

She heard the sound of approaching footsteps outside the door to the new hotel room she, Watari, and the detective were to share, the silence of the night and the anticipation of his anger enhancing all her senses. She could tell when he was close, when his hand gripped on the handle, and for a moment she wondered if she should feign sleeping.

But she wasn't a coward. She did what she thought was best, despite it being the one thing her "boss" had absolutely _not _wanted to happen. She had made her decision, and she would live with and face whatever consequences came next. That was how Ryan had been living the entirety of her life – making reckless decisions and hoping that the effects of it worked to her advantage, no matter how many difficult paths could come about instead.

And then the door opened and L walked in, slouched and relaxed like his usual self, a plastic bag gripped loosely in one hand and a half-eaten chocolate bar in the other.

"Hey," Ryan confidently said, showing no signs of regret or shame. It didn't bother L, though; he expected that. He knew she would act as though nothing were wrong, as though her decision to change their well-thought plan had been completely within reason.

"You changed the plan," he announced, neither anger nor disappointment found in his voice, shocking the girl more than any other emotion found in his voice could have.

"That was always the plan." Tearing her eyes from his, she looked to the file she had previously been reading, continuing the block of text she had earlier ignored in anticipation of his arrival. "I was sure you knew of that."

"It is dangerous." A snap from the chocolate bar resonated in the silence his words left, hanging in the air like vultures above a desert walker. She knew too well of the danger of her actions, just like a man seeing the birds of prey knows of the prediction of his death.

"Yeah."

"It is not my intention to die."

Looking up from the papers, she stared hard into the dark eyes of the detective, slamming her determination into him as well as she could with her own blue orbs.

"You won't be involved."

"I must be involved. You are working for me." She watched as the remaining bit of the chocolate was shoved between his lips, as he slowly devoured it before speaking. "You are not to continue this plan."

She stood up at that, like a child trying to defend to his mother why he needed to go to his friends house that night. It was close to coming out, that traditional, 'But!' every childish argument seems to begin with. Instead, she inhaled sharply, shook her head, tried her hardest to remember that the man was of reason and not raw emotion like she.

"You said there has to be a form of trust between us if we want to work together, didn't you? So trust me on this, L. I know what I'm doing."

And he would have been ashamed, at one point, to admit that he would have trusted her, had she not disobeyed his former orders to go with the plan, had she not been arguing him on his new orders. "You also stated that trust is easy to break. Therefor, no."

At that she clenched her fists, trying to think of a new approach to take that would ensure him that her plan was the most efficient one to use. It would lead to a quick confession, it would assist in the catching on Kira, who she was utmost positive was Yagami Light. Even though she had little to no interest in actually _catching _the fake-God herself, she knew it would be useful to be able to infiltrate the enemy himself, were it ever to come to a time where she needed to murder Kira herself to prevent there from ever being a deity figure to which she would be forced to worship. If she believed in no God that was fictitious, she would never believe in there being a factual God, either. No matter if it were a man with the ability to kill or one with the magic to heal, she would never allow herself to break her beliefs of being without a Lord.

"Dammit, L!" Ryan exclaimed, her mood sour from the string of all-nighters she had pulled in order to study and remember the answers to the exam. "I found the guy who put me into four years of hell, do you honestly think I want to kill you?"

As soon as it had left her lips, she instantly regretted it. The way it had came out wasn't the way she intended it to sound.

"Yes," he unfortunately confirmed, to which she squeezed her eyes shut in helplessness.

With her eyes and mouth both open, she went to continue to argue her point, but Watari's kind and attention-demanding voice had silenced any words she were to speak.

"Might I suggest we take a break from the argument for the night? I am sure the both of you are quite tired and won't be at full brain function to process the other's appeal," he announced.

Despite herself, Ryan sighed, shook her head, agreed. Watari was right, whether she or L accepted to believe he was. Both of them were tired – six days of no sleep constantly proved to be the limit to sleepless nights they could stand without their reasoning being affected, and they were on day seven, currently.

Without a word to bid her farewell to the man she was feuding with or to the one who had saved them from a hopeless situation, she quickly departed from the main room and headed into one of the three adjoining bedrooms. One had been distinctly classified as hers, as per Watari's tour that morning when they entered into their new lodgings, while the others were L's or Watari's.

Within the secrecy of the four walls she called a bedroom, she stripped from her professional clothes and stood in nothing but her underwear, grabbing her cigarettes from her discarded blazer's pocket and lighting one. With much needed haste, she placed the burning stick to her lips and took in as much as she could before being forced to exhale by her screaming lungs.

Collapsing onto her bed, she looked up to the white ceiling, going over everything previous from the day in her mind.

Dammit, she thought. Kira was fucking gorgeous.


	10. promise me, ryan

9:38 am.

She was sure that L was up – in fact, she had heard the shuffling outside her door at 5:27 that morning, and knew he was awake then – and that the others were already in their new headquarters and busily at work. But she just lay in her bed, her hands behind her head as she rested it on the pillow, blanket thrown over her body and one bare foot sticking out to keep the heat under the covers equalized by the cold of the room.

Despite being sent to bed at 4:45 am earlier that day by the interfering Watari, she hadn't slept a wink since then. Perhaps she wanted to – both her body and mind were overworked and at their breaking zone – but she couldn't stop the thoughts that ran through her head. Thoughts of Yagami Light pestered her, every bit of their conversation playing itself in her mind like the rough draft of a movie, each and every sentence being scrutinized and regretted as she thought of better ones to replace it, the frustration unfortunately following with each correction she wished she could make but couldn't.

It took no time for her to get over that thought line, though, and before the fifth hour of morning was signaled by the slowly rising sun, her mind had turned over to thinking about L and the situation between them.

Sure, perhaps she felt bad when she went against his orders, but she had done it nonetheless. She respected the man, yeah, but that didn't mean she agreed with all his rulings. All throughout her life, she had learned that physical interactions, personal relationships, and a romantic connection all lead to quicker and easier confessions from criminals. She had seen it, time and time again, while working for the government. She was the one to arrange it, the one who would make the fake life of a beautiful girl who would always be played by a woman who wasn't she, the one who would monitor the swift progression from the unnamed and unknown woman as she went from an acquaintance to friend to lover to captor as she dragged the confession out of a mafia lord while she lay within his bed.

Ryan had seen it too much. Sex, love, feelings. It all changed people, made them secure in the relationship they thought they shared with a person they thought they knew; a life based on lies and falsehoods. It would be easier, she knew, to get Kira to trust her if she was seen as a romantic interest. _She'd _be the one he'd be able to talk to about the cruelty of humanity, of the corruptness of it, of the 'godly acts of Kira'. _She'd_ be the one to strip him down and get that confession as he lay tiredly beside her.

Maybe L was right. No, she rationalized, he _was _right. There was no 'maybe' within that sentence; he had once told her exactly what she had always been feeling.

For too long, she _had _been behind a monitor, unable to help with investiagtions she knew she could handle. She would be forced to sit there, listening helplessly to a plan she knew was damned to fail. She would feel the strangling sensation as she wished to speak but knew she could not, knew she was behind a monitor and merely _listening _to radio waves she should not have been hearing, anyways. (But hacking was a hard thing to drop, it wasn't something she could just abandon without being weened off.) Still, Ryan sometimes feels the helplessness she had once felt as she listened to a play-by-play of a drug bust in the largest part of Washington, as she heard the predicted gunshots and was forced to hear the news of a death she could have stopped, were she able to speak up.

That helpless feeling – no, she didn't want to feel that anymore. Dammit, she wanted to help! She wanted to be out in the field, doing productive things to assist in the progression of the case that seemed well near insolvable.

_Promise me, Ryan._

Her eyes squeezed themselves shut as she recalled the words her Pa had once said to her over the phone, four and a half years ago when she had first entered into her service agreement and had her first phone call. Of all the times to remember that one conversation, she nearly curses her bad luck and wondered why it had to be then, why now?

_Promise me ya ain't gonna go do nothin' crazy, y'hear? Don't do nothin' dangerous._

If she hadn't felt so empty at that moment, so unattached to the world or the God they shared, she was sure she would have let those tears behind her closed lids fall at the mere memory of how broken and defeated his voice sounded. She loved her pa, more than anything else on earth. That man had raised her, he had been her everything for almost-eighteen-years before she was taken across the continent by a president they both thought highly of. To know she had caused him to sound that way, that she had caused him to cry as he spoke those words to her – it damn well broke her soul, what little she still had of it.

_I... I can't ever stand to lose ya, Ryan. This... This is Hell. There ain't nothing worse the devil can do t'a me, Ryan. Don't make me lose ya anymore. Promise me, m'girl._

And she remembered her answer: "I promise, pa. I ain't gonna put you through nothing more."

And she remembered how often she went against her words.

All the times she'd worked alongside criminals to clear their name within government files for money to send back home, all the times she'd hacked into various accounts of wealthy business men to fund her family's medical plan, all the things she had done to get into L's exclusive club of investigators. The man she killed, the things she'd done. Everything was so dangerous, everything could somehow lead to a death she promised her pa wouldn't happen. And now here she was, breaking that promise to him as worst she could, more than willing to throw herself to a mass murderer and see where it brought her.

Maybe L was right.

No, she once again decided. L _was _right. He probably was _always _right, she realized. What she was doing was dangerous, it could lead to death. Maybe she didn't care – there wasn't a place for her after she died, anyways – but she did care about her pa, and of how he'd be after she didn't contact him for years, once he assumed she was dead.

Thinking about it, she realized she hadn't spoken to her family in over two weeks or so. They must've been worried, little Mary was probably consoling her ma with words she wasn't sure were true herself, Mark would more than likely be off thinking the worst of the situation and throwing a fit while her pa suffered in silence, just like he usually did.

For the first time in her life, Ryan began to wonder if what she did was right. In her heart, she knew it was. But the emotional part of her was crying out, sad to know her pa would be busting his brain concerning her safety, that he had probably been doing that for the past four years while she indulged herself in more and more dangerous activities within the past half a year of her freedom instead of returning home.

_Good... Good talk, Ryan. Good talk. Now, be a good girl, y'hear? You show 'em white-collars what it means to be a country girl! Do y'er best, kid._

Maybe she loved her pa too much to go through with her plan, maybe she was thinking too much and her lack of sleep was getting her over emotional, maybe it was that time of the month again.

Either way, she sat up in her bed, put her hands over her eyes and pressed the bottoms of her palms into the sockets those blue orbs she inherited from that parental figure of hers resided in.

_I ain't upset with ya, Ryan. Y'er a smart girl, I ain't ever gonna be disappointed with ya. I'm proud of ya, no matter what them others say. _

With her feet on the carpeted floor, she made her way across the room and to the in-room bathroom, dropping her underwear off her body and getting in the shower. Maybe the cold water streaming weakly from the above-head faucet would knock her out of the slump she found herself in, maybe it'd clear her mind.

All she wanted in that moment was to think straight. She knew far too much how her emotions affected everything in her life and – if she didn't shake her pa from her mind – she'd be forced to give up and give in to L's reasoning.

And never in her life had she ever been a quitter. She wasn't going to let that man make her one, no. Not that day.

_I love ya, Ryan. Don't ya ever f'erget it._

…

It didn't take long for Matsuda to notice the difference in his almost-friend when she emerged from her room. Though she wore the usual skinny jean and band shirt combo, her face was pale and her eyes red and puffy, like she had been crying. But that seemed almost impossible, the man reasoned – Ryan didn't seem like the type of person to cry over anything. She seemed stern and strong, able to hear of a death and brush it off like nothing. In his mind, she was the bravest and strongest of them all, second only to the stoic and emotionless L, though he sometimes wondered if L had any emotions, at all.

She said nothing as she walked passed him, bare feet dragging across the floor like she woke up from a terrible hangover, like she suddenly didn't care for life in general. He – along with the others – remained silent as she progressed towards the coffee maker and poured herself a cup of the half-hour-old coffee within its perk. They had heard from the lead detective of the events from the following evening, of how she had disobeyed his orders and continued to argue him later that night, though the details were brushed over and what was mentioned was incredible vague.

Aizawa and Soichiro had offered the idea of kicking her off the task force, but Matsuda had fought them on that point, albeit weakly. And he'll admit, he was quite surprised when Watari had offered up his own opinion of the predicament, leaning more towards the idea of Ryan staying on the team specifically because they did not know how much information she had stolen from L, nor if she had any back up plans in store for the viral spread of such documents.

As she drank the full glass of the luke-warm, too-strong coffee, her eyes were closed and body leaning against the counter. He was sure she knew of all the eyes of the taskforce on her, though L's remained steadily upon the screens of changing images.

He watched as she put the glass into the sink, opened the fridge and leaned down to gaze inside. Sighing, she stood up and rummaged around the cabinets found within the penthouse room, searching for something he didn't know.

"Is there anything stronger in this place? Vodka, maybe? Rum? Rye? No, nothing?" She turned, sighed, shrugged. "What kind of place is this, no alcohol on site?"

"It's a workplace," Soichiro harshly shot, his pen quickly scribbling across the report he was writing for work. "You should realize that by now."

Despite how much his words aggravated her, Ryan said nothing. Maybe she was too tired to retort, maybe she thought it wasn't worth creating another uproar like she had with Aizawa. It sort of bothered Matsuda, seeing her so... dull. It was like she wasn't as fearless as she used to be, like she was suddenly thinking more than she ever had before, to the point where she resembled L in being unsociable.

The silence that followed nearly suffocated him. If he hadn't felt so awkward in the room, if he didn't feel so weak upon seeing the girl he semi-looked up to in such a down mood because of her one mistake, he would have spoken up and said something. But the tension was too high, as was the stress within the room. It was like everyone realized how close they were to death now, having her go out of her way and approach a person who was suspected to be Kira. Would she do that if she were taken out on the field again? Would she endanger them all, once more?

Watari was the first to say a word, his standing frame seeming frail against the wrath of the world but his voice sounding unaffected by such a dark atmosphere within the room as he asked, "Is something wrong, miss?"

And Matsuda almost saw the conflicting emotions pass through those bored blue eyes, as if she were – for a moment – stuck between how to answer.

"Yeah," she softly admitted, shaking her head like she was _ashamed _at the response she chose. "I miss my pa."

…

L did not feel sorry for her, he didn't care – family made people weak, sometimes he was glad he had none. It was another reason to add to the growing list of why he should remove her from the task force, contrary to Watari's strong belief that such an action would hinder their progress undoubtedly.

He was still upset of the night before, how she had so boldly gone against his actions. Did she not understand that she was to be working under him, that _he _was the top detective in the world and not she? Or had her moment of victory upon getting into the task force blinded her from that oh-so-obvious revelation? If she continued acting without reason or permission, she could very well ruin the entire investigation and allow far more people to be wrongfully killed by an uncaught Kira.

Dully, he heard as Watari was speaking to her in the most polite of tones, diverging into questions they both know she would not care to answer. And then he heard her sharp refusal of information, the way her usually-blasé voice rose up a bit as she announced, "Let's just get back to work, alright?"

A few moments later and she sat in the empty seat beside him, her body leaned over and her elbows on her knees, staring at the side of his face because he refused to turn and look at her. He was still childish, he still wanted to win. Whether or not he allowed her onto the investigation team suddenly seemed like the win-or-lose decision of his life.

"Let's get this over with, L," she suddenly declared, forcefully grabbing the arm of his office chair and turning it to look at her. He was a bit annoyed at her actions, but nevertheless it got the job done, since he was looking at her then.

And he realized again just how right his previous assumption had been, how she was always a straight shooter, always someone who got straight to the point without messing around. In a way, he enjoyed that part of her. It made conversing easy, made bouncing ideas and hearing similar thoughts far more exciting then speaking with someone like Matsuda about similar matters. Not to mention that her wit and intelligence exceeded that of the other investigation member, as well.

"You're pissed, that's okay. It's reasonable, I didn't mention it to you so now you feel undermined of power. You probably think I'll do that all the time, and there's nothing I can say to change that opinion, and there's nothing I _will _say to try to." Her eyes bore into his, uncaring of the others watching with curiosity in their minds. The fact that she spoke about such a topic in front of them almost made her words more valuable; he knew she felt uncomfortable speaking about anything important when their presence was made obvious. "You can do what you want. You can kick me off the team, send me to jail for interfering in government business, take me to court for hacking or whatever the hell you want, it doesn't matter. I started on this case on my own accord, and I'll end it on my own, too. No matter what you do, L, I will not stop working on this case."

He watched with a cocked head as her eyebrows furrowed together in either anger or determination, he couldn't tell – she looked passionate about this, and that was all that mattered. Dully, he felt the unfamiliar twisting in his stomach of lust, and realized that he enjoyed her unrelenting perseverance upon the case. It was similar to his own, he noticed; once he started something, he was unable to drop it until its completion. There was no such thing as 'giving up' or 'half-done'. He wasn't that type of person and – seeing her expression and hearing his words – he realized she wasn't, either. And just like himself, he knew that sending her away from the case did not mean she would stop pursuing Light on her own account, it didn't mean she wouldn't be throwing herself into the danger Kira offered.

"There's not much you can do in jail," Aizawa almost smugly mentioned, still recalling her words from the other day and the acid within them.

"You throw me in jail," she began, turning her chair to look at the tanned man with the unsightly afro, eyes narrow and angry as she glared him down. "And my one phone call will be to the American government. They get me out, I change my name, and suddenly I'm back in Japan and back to work. Don't underestimate me, I'm not spineless like you." And that familiar, cocky grin is on her face, and L knows she won the battle.

He won't admit it, though. No, he won, she will be submissive to him and his ideas, because he knows she is the type of person who requires guidance until she feels a burst of inspiration. That was all that act had been, he realized; it was a moment of unguided, uncontained inspiration. He had planned to, later on, introduce himself to Light, anyways. She had just done it too early, too out of place and out of turn. But what did it matter, as long as she assisted on the case without bringing it downwards. She was valuable on the team, doing more work than the others had managed since her arrival all in a day and a half.

Watari was correct, she was cunning, she had a plan already in place as to what to do were she to be dismissed. Of course, L knew he could find many holes in her plan, could keep her out of Japan until the case was over if he so wished. But he felt no need to mention that to her now – why allow her create a counter-plan, should he ever feel the need to initiate such an idea into action?

She turned her chair to L, faced him once again. "Look, L, you're smarter than me. You're the best detective, despite your looks." A sigh, as if she were once again aware of that disappointment she had thought to have been over. "I can't do it on my own, but I'm sure you could. You throw me out of the investigation, I'm as good as dead. You keep me, and at least I can help progress the investigation _before _I die." He said nothing as she went on, stared into her eyes as if they were the most complex thing he had seen before.

They were blue, but around the colour was redness. Had she slept a wink? He knew himself was only able to sleep for ten minutes before thinking about the situation and the case and what-have-you. But behind the apparent sleeplessness, he saw the generally concerning tell-tale signs of a woman who had been crying, of someone who was clinging to any hope there was to be had. No, he didn't care about it. No, he didn't like or love her, or even care what she had been doing within the time period from when they separated to when she emerged from her room. He didn't care, as long as she finished her work and removed herself from whatever slump she found herself in. Before he knew it, she'd be asking about his family like she had once before.

And when he was sure she was finished her rant, he put his hand on his desk and spun himself back to facing the monitors.

Not even a second later and he saw the blur of motion as his chair was spun once again to facing her, but this time she was standing, her hand on the backrest beside his head and her being bent over, face slightly higher than his.

"So what's the answer?" she near exclaimed, irritation laced clearly in her voice, though he brushed it off as a side effect from her lack of sleep and possible menstruation week.

"I had no intention to remove you from the task force," he admitted, cocking his head slightly to the right, and if he were fazed by her sudden proximity to his face, he most certainly showed nothing of it. "It would accomplish nothing, as well as creating a possible enemy. I trust you will not be so disobedient within the future, though the matter of your continued meetings with Yagami Light is a matter that will need further discussion."

Releasing a sigh that almost seemed to scream relief, but what may have been only from exhaustion, she stepped away from the famous detective and returned to her usual slack stance, her hands digging themselves into the pockets of her tight jeans as she walked across the space that led to her room.

"I'm going to sleep," she dully informed in her usual uninterested tone, hand removing her pocket to open the door before she returned it and vanished into the space behind the oak slab that then separated them.

And without realizing it, Matsuda threw his fist into the air, too overwhelmed with the joyous decision of her staying to contain the show of victory over the more depressing alternative that his 'former' boss-turned-coworker, Soichiro, and Aizawa had offered.

He'd still need to bring a vanilla latte and a pack of smokes, everyday for the girl he found himself admiring, more and more each day because of her bravery.

One day, he hoped some of that would rub off on him.

**[Author's Note]**

** So, I want to have a new summary for this story, since the one I have currently doesn't seem... good enough, I suppose. But every time I try to think of one, I can't manage it.**

** So I ask:**

** If there's anyone who is still reading this story, do you have any ideas for a summary I could use? I would be more than glad, and would probably be in your debt for a good amount of years.**

** If you do, I'd be glad to hear them. Of course, I'd give credit.**

** Thank you, have a good day/evening/night. (:**


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